Fearless, Kind, and Curious
by Dr-I-Know-It-All
Summary: Hermione was raised religiously, but when her magic started her parents taught her that it was a gift to be used and helped encourage her. Without the insecurity plaguing her about magic and with a constant need to prove herself, Hermione ends up ... bored. Enter Hogwarts, the Weasley twins, and a dark Professor to assist.
1. Chapter 1

Christian!Hermione AU from Pre-Hogwarts On.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

Hermione grew up in central London, a daughter of two Christian dentists who lived in the home of a late grandmother and ran their private clinic just under ten miles away. She'd grown up as an only child and so was afforded many luxuries like a private education and yearly vacations.

Her free time were taken up by two things; reading and Church. Every Sunday they would go to church for a minimum or three hours, and every other Wednesday was an activity with the other young kids in her Primary class at church. She enjoyed singing at the church, but making friends there was difficult. Not because of the religion itself, and not because it was Central London kids in a confined space, but because, well, she got BORED.

Instructions were repeated three or four times before the kids even began to follow them. Even making paper snowflakes could become a chore with the other kids. She tended to dread activities instead of looking forward to them. The only reason she went was because her parents let her bring her books.

Primary probably isn't a familiar concept, so it'll need to be described. Primary was a children's class that all the kids under twelve attended at her local LDS Church. And it was _boring_. She liked sitting in the pews and listening to people giving interesting talks and bearing their testimonies. She liked the adults talking like adults.

In Primary, everything was just so … simple. The most challenging part was singing or when she was called on to give the prayer in class. Things she was in charge of. Anything else was done with repeats for the other kids, or slowly so everyone could keep up. She tried to be good, but she couldn't help but open her books at every opportunity.

There were days, though, that confused her and got her to pay attention. She was, after all, only eight.

". . . so, remember, it's never okay to fight someone."

Her hand was thrust into the air. "Yes, Hermione?"

"But people fight all the time. What about war?"

Her primary teacher gave her an exasperated smile. "There are exceptions, yes. The scriptures tell us that the sins of those under orders, like in war, will fall on their commanders. Like the Prime Minister, or the Generals. That doesn't excuse bad behavior though. People are responsible for behaving the best in the situations they're in, even if that situation is war.

"But," she raised her finger to stop Hermione from calling out her response, "in our personal lives, there is always a non-violent option, and we should always strive to use it. Too many times we fight because we're angry, and anger like that is not okay."

At the end of church, she was still confused. Her parents piled them in their little care and started the twenty-minute drive home, and she decided to ask.

"Mom, is it okay to get angry?" Hermione asked, making her parents look back at her. "Some people deserve it, don't they?"

They were both silent for a moment, showing Hermione they took her seriously. That always made her happy with her parents – all the other teachers took her questions as if they weren't serious, and answered too simply. Her parents knew she needed more.

"There's a problem there in your thought, sweetheart," her dad said finally. "You say they deserve it. Do _they_ get _your_ anger? Or do they get the consequences your anger decides to act out?"

Hermione thought about that for a second. "I guess the consekenses."

"See? Feeling angry shouldn't ruin our own self-control and it shouldn't make those consequences," her dad continued, "but that's what happens. Do I make sense so far?"

Hermione nodded furiously.

"Okay, so the next part; if the emotions aren't really for others, but instead are shared with them, that means they're there for us," Dan Granger continued, laying out the logic. "So, is there anything we can learn from anger? And what about other negative emotions, like sadness?"

Hermione thought about this for a little bit of time, but she'd been thinking about it since the lesson. She'd jumped to her own conclusions fairly quickly. "I know sadness tells me when things are wrong with me."

"Good," her father nodded. "Now, say you were angry because someone was mean to you. What have we told you about bullies, Hermione?"

She gave her dad a spirit-filled smile. "They might not know they're wrong, or they might be hurting me because they have pain and don't want to be alone."

Dan smiled at his daughter. "Exactly. So are we going to get mad at the person, or their circumstances? Are we angry at the choice itself, or the person who makes the choice?"

"The choice," Hermione said firmly, knowing it was the right answer. "So, when we get angry, it's so we know it's bad. Then we can make things better for everyone. Right?"

"I think so," her mother said with a soft smile at her husband. "We don't always do it perfectly, but I think that getting angry is our way of recognizing injustice and getting ready to fight against it. Like when people protest, right? They are angry, but they're motivated by it to try to make changes."

"We shouldn't be condemning people with our anger, though," her dad interjected. "People can make mistakes or even intentionally hurt people, but we don't believe they can't be redeemed."

"So that's why we teach forgiveness?" Hermione said with a scrunched brow. "Because even if it's the choice they made that was wrong, they're still people."

"Exactly," her mom beamed through the rearview mirror.

Her dad nodded. "You're right, sweetheart. People are inherently good, and I believe that. But they can learn the wrong things or make the wrong choices. Sometimes they live a life filled with pain that they never learned how to deal with without hurting other people. It doesn't change that they're all children of God, princes and princesses who, under everything, have feelings too. Even _we_ make wrong choices, Hermione. Your mother and I aren't perfect, and we might not always have the right answer. But we have to be compassionate, and have charity. Almost everything can be solved when we're willing to approach people with an open heart."

"So I can still get angry, as long as I'm not mean to people?" Hermione asked, bringing it to its conclusion.

Her parents laughed.

* * *

Hermione learned from a young age that if she wanted a challenge, no other adults would give it to her but her parents.

Primary was one example, but the other half of the equation was her school. Elementary school was just that – elementary. Why did they ask her to count as high as she could as a test if they were going to stop her when she got past one hundred? Kindergarten – useless. Why did the whole class need to learn how to write together, when she'd already learnt at home? Grades 1-3 – redundant. Why did they spend a whole month on division and multiplication when she could do it within the week? Grade 4 – utterly annoying.

Her parents weren't a whole lot of help with the school. They tried to give her fun activities at home, but they just wanted her to go outside or do the boring homework she was given. So she read instead. When the teachers spoke about different books she'd never read, she went to the library and read them. When they challenged her to read the scriptures cover-to-cover in church, she started it right away and didn't put them down for a month. Then re-read them so she could understand the narrative and not just the individual verses. When her teachers or parents talked about future careers, she researched them and tried to find one she was interested in and then proceeded to plan each years and the degrees she'd need to do those jobs. When they spoke about foreign countries, she read up on each one.

Her first bout of accidental magic wasn't angry or scared or even happy like many children – she was bored and in a fourth-grade class (She'd skipped second grade and started early. She had been the youngest in her year, so she was eight while the rest of her peers were nine or ten-year-olds). She liked singing songs and she liked Madison a little (a girl who had been in daycare with her; she guessed they were friends but never asked), but when the teacher tried to teach them to stories, she had zoned out and looked around the room for something to keep her occupied. The bookshelf was all the way across the room, and it would have been rude to get up and walk away while the teacher was talking.

She wished she had a book, to the point of frustration. Her parents hadn't let her bring her library books today, telling her she needed to be paying attention in class. Her frustration grew.

It was like something broke, like she'd lost her temper except she hadn't, and something had reached from her. It felt like the spirit, only … stronger. She had wished for a book and had it flown to her. Like a force was acting with her heart in mind. The kids were surprised, as was Hermione, but the teacher shrieked in horror. Hermione didn't understand why the teacher was so afraid and angry with her, why she was yelling. She tried to ask if Mrs. Sabine was alright, if she did something wrong, but then a pair of people sort of … _appeared_.

They seemed genuinely disconcerted to see all of the many kids in the classroom, and they looked at each other with a worried expression.

"What are you doing in my classroom?" Mrs. Sabine demanded, momentarily distracted from Hermione. "What is happening today?!"

"Ummm, hello?" One man said nervously. "Er, which one of these kids did magic?"

Multiple kindergarteners pointed to Hermione, who was busy wondering how the day turned out so very _not_ boring. Magic? Like, miracles?

"Can you come over here, sweetheart?" The other guy said kindly. "We're going to take you home."

Hermione got up to move to the men, trusting, but Mrs. Sabine wasn't too happy.

"Excuse me, but you're not her parents," she objected. "You can't just take one of my students!"

The one man reached forward and pulled Hermione forward and past her classmates. The other lifted what seemed like a stick and sent out a series of bright flashes that landed all the class on the ground. Hermione finally felt slightly worried.

"Sir, can you let me go?" asked Hermione, as the man was still hanging on to her arm. He flushed but did so. Hermione then stared at her classmates and frowned. "Are they going to be okay?"

"Just fine, we promise," the second man reassured her. "They needed sleep, because they're getting used to not remembering. See, when they wake up they won't remember that we were here, or that you used magic."

"Why won't they remember?"

The man flicked his wand in his hand. "Magic, little Miss. Magic."

"Are you angels?" Hermione asked, curiously.

They shared a look. "Erm, no, just wizards."

The men asked her where she lived and took her there, even though her parents weren't home. She was a little uncomfortable, so she called her parents at work and told them some strange men wanted to talk to them about something that happened at school, and that she was home with them. Unsurprisingly, both parents rushed back to their London home and immediately came to their daughter's side.

They explained everything they could to her parents and her and seemed very concerned about repeats in this accident.

"The important thing is to teach her to control her emotions," they told her parents. "Now that it's happened once, it'll be easier for her to lose control and use magic. Now, generally, these things happen when children are scared or angry-"

"I wasn't," Hermione protested with a childish glare at the two men. Her parents gave her a skeptical look, and she huffed. "I wasn't _angry_. I don't get ' _angry'_. I was _bored_. Mrs. Supine was making us repeat things from yesterday. We learnt it _yesterday_ ; I don't need to do it again."

"She's your teacher, love, you shouldn't criticize."

"She's slow," Hermione huffed. "I want to go faster."

The men seemed to consider this. "Well, that's a new one. Don't really know what to do about that."

"You don't?" Mum worried. "But she can control it, right? Is it just magic? She can control it with spells and meditation, right, and she won't curse anyone?"

"She probably won't, and if she does we'll come back and reverse it," the second man reassured her. "I don't know about this meditation business, but kids can't control their magic really well. The magic's something they're not really used to yet, and they need to grow into it and practice it more when they're older in order to really get the hang of it. Most kids won't really control it until they start using wands, but if they put their minds to it proper they can do without. She can control it like a proper little witch."

She was a witch. She was a witch.

 _What did that mean?_

Hermione bombarded the men with question after question, not satisfied to leave anything to guesswork. How did they know she'd used magic? A thing called the Trace that was etched in the anchor stone around the country, that registered whenever underage witches or wizards used magic on or around muggles. Was the stick a wand? Yes, but she couldn't get one until she was eleven. Why eleven? That's when she could go to Hogwarts and learn how to use magic safely. Hogwarts?

"So, it's a boarding school for magical children?" her mother clarified. "And it only starts at age eleven?"

"Yes, ma'am," One said.

"And they can't get their wands until they enroll in the school?" Dad interjected now, looking a little gruffer.

"No, sir."

The parents looked at each other somberly. "And this is mandatory for Hermione?"

"We can't have magicals wandering around without training," the man nodded. "You could choose not to let her, but then she would be forbidden from using magic. If she ever did, and it wasn't an accident, she could be locked up. If she were underage at the time, she could be removed from the Muggle world and made a ward of the Ministry."

At that, Hermione shuffled into her mother's side. "Mom, I do want to learn magic."

Her mother looked down at her daughter's sharp eyes. They showed how overwhelmed their daughter was with all that she'd been told, how close she as to losing it, but they also reminded her of the reason the men were here in the first place; Hermione was special. They'd always known that, always seen those small things that didn't make sense. They assumed they would understand it one day, but now … Mrs. Granger sighed, but nodded at her daughter.

"There'll be a lot to talk about for the next few years," she told her daughter. "But we can consider it."

"If she went, could she still attend church?" Dan asked their guests. The men shared surprised glances. "The existence of magic does not contradict our beliefs or what we've tried to teach our daughter. We're members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and one part of our beliefs is regularly partaking of the sacrament and taking Sundays for a day of rest. Would she be able to live those commandments in this boarding school?"

"Erm, uh, well, Sundays there are no classes," the one man put together for them. The parents relaxed a little. "We're not from the school, though, ma'am, and we don't know if they'd let her. First years aren't allowed to leave the school, usually. Not if there aren't any emergencies."

Dan and Emma looked at each other. "You appeared in my daughter's class nearly the moment she did magic, and you're saying she has no chance of getting to a church on a Sunday morning? Do none of the other students have beliefs, a religion?"

"There are a few, but they usually practice in the school," the man said, not really understanding. "Or they practice over the hols."

"Our religion is not something we can simply put on hold for the school year because it's more convenient," Emma said, not aggressively but quite forcefully. "Since you are not representatives of this boarding school, will we be able to meet with someone from there who can definitely tell us one way or another on this?"

"When your daughter turns eleven, the Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress brings the muggleborn letters to new students," Two explained. "If you want to wait until its closer to her enrollment, then that's an option."

The parents sighed. "I suppose that'd be fine."

The men had to leave at the end of the evening, shaking everyone's hands and letting them know how to get in contact if they needed anything. Hermione didn't want them to go.

"But I wanna know more!" Hermione cried. "Please don't go!"

The men hesitated, and her parents looked aghast at her whining.

"Hermione, these men have their own families," her mother said kindly. "You don't want to keep them away from them, do you?"

Hermione huffed. "No."

"Then say thank you to the nice men and wish them goodnight," her mother instructed.

Hermione turned to the men despondently. "Thank you, sirs. Goodnight."

The men looked reluctant to leave and looked at each other hesitantly. The first man, whose name she couldn't remember, gave his partner a little sheepish smile and then turned to Hermione.

"Now, don' be sad, little one," One knelt right next to her. "I tell you what, I have something for you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny book, which she stared at as it grew large in his hand. It was a pretty book, a leather and gold lettering.

"I only just got this job," One told her with a blush. "I still don't remember all the spells all the time, so I carry this book around with me. But I think you'll appreciate it even more that I do, am I right?"

Hermione nodded vigorously, making him smile.

"Now, I want you to take care of this, yeah?" he told her. "Many of the spells in here will be too advanced for you for many, many years, and without a wand you'll have to work extra hard to get them, so don't be upset, okay? It's something to keep you from getting too bored. Now, the most important thing is I don't want you to try any of these spells around muggles, and don't show anyone this book, alright? We have to keep magic a secret, understand?"

"You're an idiot, Gamp," the second man said with an exasperated look. "She's just a kid, she can't do wandless magic!"

"Don't listen to him, little Miss," the first guy winked at her, making her giggle. "Not everyone can do it, but I think you can. You'll just need to practice really hard, okay? Can I suggest the first spell to try?"

She nodded emphatically and offered the book. He opened it to the index and searched, coming up blank. "Hmmm, not in here. Do you have a quill-,er, biro?"

Her father pulled one from his pocket and the man thanked him. In the front of the book he wrote a spell, _Wingardium Leviosa._

"This is a levitation spell," he showed her how to pronounce it, and showed her a demonstration on the biro. A swish and flick. Exact pronunciation. The pen levitated as if attached by a glass rod to the tip of his wand. "It's one of the first charms you learn in Hogwarts. Try it with something really light first. It might take time, and you might not believe you can work your magic, but you have to try, huh? And don't worry, the Ministry only deals with underage wand-magic and accidental magic. If this is intentionally done, and without a wand, you won't get in any trouble. Okay?"

Hermione flung herself at the man and trapped him in her tiny hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you!"

The man blushed. "Affectionate kid, huh?"

"She loves books," her mother said matter-of-factly. "And she's a hugger. You never stood a chance."

The adults all laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Hermione tried her hardest, but she didn't know how to try to move the little paper clip mummy and daddy told her to practice with. She tried to do it, but it just felt like she was waving her hand.

Mummy and Daddy talked to the kindergarten teacher and the principal after her _incident_. Since they couldn't remember the magic, they made the excuse that she'd faked being sick that day because she was bored in class. The teacher agreed to let her read books in class because of the incident, so long as she participated in the class discussions, and so she would pull out the magic book and read the theories again and again. She still didn't understand what they meant by _feeling the magic_ , like it was an emotion, but it came up a few times in the practical explanations and she wanted to know what it meant. How do you feel magic, how do you make it move consistently throughout the charm or heavier at the end?

"Maybe you're going about this the wrong way, sweetheart," her mum said one day when she had started crying because she couldn't do it. "Are you thinking that you'll do the spell, and _then_ you'll feel this magic and be able to do it again?"

Hermione sniffled and shrugged. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she knew it had to be wrong.

"Can you think about how you felt at school, the day you brought the book to you?" her mother asked, sitting next to her. "Do you remember?"

Hermione nodded. "It was like a bubble bursting, but Mister said that was because I started the magic."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try it again, would it?" her mother observed. "Go on, try and repeat the feeling. And remember, it only takes the faith of a mustard seed to move mountains. Believe you can, sweetheart, and that's half the battle."

Hermione sighed and looked at the paperclip on the table on more time. Mummy said to think about her first bit of magic, and so she did. That non-anger bubble. At first, there was nothing. Then she felt it – it was faint, but there. The end of the bubble, the after-effects of the pop she'd felt that day in kindergarten. Suddenly confident, she waved her hand. " _Wingardium leviosa!_ "

The paper clip shot into the air fast and unrestrained. It hit the ceiling before Hermione squeaked, lost her focus, and the paper clip fell back to the table. It didn't matter, she'd done it! She shrieked and jumped up and down in her excitement. She didn't realize she'd been so loud until her mother came rushing through the door.

"Mummy, mummy, I did magic! I did magic!" she spun and hugged her mom. "Thank you, mummy, thank you!"

Her mom smiled in relief. _Finally._ Arms came up to wrap around the sweet little girl. "My little miracle."

Hermione practiced the spell so much over the next couple of days that she was able to float flowers over to her mother – they bundles of little dandelions she'd picked on her way home from school. It made her mom happy, and she wanted to do it more. She also lifted her books more often, slowly lifting them to her. It still wasn't the speed of that first day, but maybe it wasn't the right charm for that.

But, true to Hermione's character, one spell couldn't keep her occupied for long. She'd read about so many spells from the book, like summoning fire or water, transfiguring people and things, repairing things that were broken or even cleaning things that she never thought could be cleaned. Everything was so interesting, she wanted to try them all.

This led to some … interesting scenarios.

* * *

"Catch that Tweety Bird!" Hermione screeched as she barreled into the room after a yellow blur.

The dentists went into combat mode. Mrs. Granger grabbed a wooden spoon from the utensil crock and charged at the flying bird-like creature, Mr. Granger closed the open window and then looked for something to catch it in. Hermione was trying to get it with her magic, but it was too fast and too … mischievous.

Finally Mr. Granger caught the thing by getting laundry bag from the other room and used it as a giant net. Both parents were out of breath, but had enough energy to level their disappointed gaze at their daughter.

"Hermione, hunny, why did you bring a cartoon character to life?"

Hermione was all apologies, but she thought it wasn't too bad. She'd been trying a charm to conjure birds, but obviously had ended up picturing canaries as they were depicted in the cartoons. So instead of a regular bird being conjured, she had somehow managed to conjure the signature cartoon birdy in its two-dimensional glory.

After a little bit of discussion, they decided that in this instance, perhaps practical experience was best. If Hermione was having a hard time picturing a proper bird, they would have to take the little witch to the pet store to see birds up close.

"Now remember," her mother told her, "we're not actually getting you a pet. Well, unless you want a fish, I suppose."

"I know, mom," Hermione huffed while raising her chin high in the air. "I still don't think I need to look at the birds. I can get it right on my own!"

The miniature witch was sulking since her parents had told her not to try the spell again. Her parents had tried unsuccessfully to convince her this was part of being a good witch, but their daughter had taken it as an insult to her abilities and had refused to be separated from her book from a moment since. They found her reading it at every moment as if trying to prove to them she was smart enough, hard-working enough to do it.

"Let's just see if this experience helps, alright?"

Mrs. Granger led the young witch by her reluctant hand into the quaint, old-fashioned pet shop. It was a local place that was in a converted house on the outskirts of London. It was warm and filled with exposed wooden beams to give it a classical look that made Hermione finally give a small smile for their mother/daughter outing.

"Let's see …"

Mrs. Granger scanned though the pets, looking through the cages to find the birds. She caught a little movement out of the corner of her eyes that seemed … too fast. Maybe one of the pets had gotten loose?

Regardless, she pulled Hermione over to the aviary to look at the cute little canaries and bouncing budgies. Hermione's face scrunched up as she looked at the birds, but not in the disgusted mose-wrinkling way; she was studying them nearly clinically while keeping her distance. Her mother regarded her with eyes that were a little too dull to be happy. Another lacking connection from her daughter in a world where connections meant everything. She needed to learn to appreciate other people – or creatures, in this case.

But amongst her observing, Mrs. Granger noticed a slight change in her daughter. Her clinical forward posture that exist to examine the birds in their cages changes and moved backwards just a little, centering her on the earth the same way she did whenever she was casting a spell. Instead of casting, though, she seemed to look to her right for something that had caught her attention.

"Sweetheart?"

Her voice was soft, but Hermione mightn't have heard it if it were a shout. Her magic was buzzing and all her senses were fixed on the feeling. It was like the feeling of right before a spell.

"Oh, customers!" a blonde girl ran from the back, her face flushed and sweaty. "I'm so sorry, but you will have to come back later. I'm dealing with a little emergency in the back."

It seemed the appearance of the blonde had acted as a catalyst for the creature in the shadows let out a screeching yowl and leapt from underneath the tables to launch itself at the young witch. Hermione had barely time to think but she instinctually caught the soft creature even as the owner and her own mother shrieked in surprise.

Hermione felt the sweet rush of magic as the fair-haired creature landed in her arms and looked down in surprise. It was a little blonde baby fox. It yipped and licked at her nose, clearly claiming her. She nearly wanted to drop it as it cleaned her face with its rough tongue. "Eeww!"

It was only when the fox scrambled in her arms to remain there that Hermione's eyes were drawn to the extraordinarily swishy tail. Too swishy. And big. Her eyes widened and a gasp left her mouth. It had more than one tail.

"Are you magic?" she knew the answer, but she was surprised when the fox decided to wave its tail in a hypnotic pattern of swirling colours. "Magical creatures …"

Like a bullet, she ran up to the blonde who'd rushed to remove them from the store.

"You're a witch! Mom, she's a witch too!"

She lifted the fox as if to provide proof, making the animal scream as if it were injured. That made Hermione turn from the excited academic to a caring nurturer like her mother didn't see often as she pulled the fox back into her arms to coo and shush the animal who positively preened under the attention.

The blonde proprietress seemed baffled. "A witch _too_?"

The fox honestly licked the girl's neck and her daughter giggled in response. It was an unreal sight made only stranger by a subtle glow coming from the wolf. The glow was ignored by Hermione, but the proprietress knew that glow.

"You naughty kitsune!" the blonde wiggled her finger at the nine-tail fox in a huff. It had the audacity to sniff snootily at her and bury deeper into the girl's arms. "This is why you escaped you cage."

Hermione's head shot up. "Kitsune? He escaped?"

"You know he's a boy?" the blonde raised her brow.

Hermione looked at the fox. "He feels like a boy."

The proprietress sighed and extended her hand. "I feel like we need introductions. I'm Samantha Wright."

"Hermione," she shook hands. "You're a witch, right?"

"Muggle-born, but yes," she said with a soft, resigned smile. "You're muggleborn too? Well, follow me. The back room is better for these kind of talks."

Hermione jumped to follow the strange woman, her mind and mouth just brimming with questions. The most prominent one … "What's a muggleborn?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "It's a title that means born without magical parents. Practically, however …" she observed Mrs. Granger with a sad look. "Let's just say I don't like it."

The door swung open to show a regular little office with a desk strewn with papers and ledgers and boring white walls. Both Granger women looked at her with confusion until Samantha pulled her wand from up her sleeve and with graceful sweeping motions sent a wave of magic towards the wall. It shook for a moment, creaking and groaning, and then folded back like a Chinese screen to reveal an entire world beyond the wall.

Cages and habitats, fenced in areas and then other locked in the rafters showed strange and beautiful beasts Hermione had never really read about before. Oh, there were normal cats and frogs, there were even owls that she recognized, but there were also bat-wing-webbed monkeys, balls of puff that like rolling around in their pen, and twigs that came alive and played on a little lemon tree in the center of the room as if it were a jungle gym.

By far, the least populous group were the three fox-like creatures that looked like the one in her arms. The shopkeep had called them kitsune?

The little fluffy fox in her arms gave a cry and then arced to the ground and towards her fellow foxes. They ran up to greet their lost comrade and nattered at each other through the cages, biting and nuzzling each other best they could.

"These creatures are all ones popular among magic-users as pets, except your little fox friend," the woman said with an introduction to each animal. "Toads, the hamsters and mice of the wizarding world; kneazles and cats because they're intelligent and the most common to form a familiar bond with; owls are used to deliver wizarding post; ahool are used for the same; puffskeins are just …. adorable. Honestly, their only redeeming qualities are that they are simply cute and affectionate, highly loyal pets. These little guys are Bowtruckels," she said, introducing her to the stick figures. "Most wizards come in to buy them if they want to find wand-trees, like a kind of sniffer dog."

After giving them the brief introductions, she took them to the fox pen where the little kitsunes were still playing. "These troublemakers aren't really popular pets, especially out East; in Japan they're actually hunted and not really well protected in the government. Like the fox-hunts are done here, the wizarding community do have hunts for these guys out East. They can't really be domesticated unless they're bonded, which is always a lucky chance at best. They were also considered demons in olden-times because they would take eggs and kill chickens, and of course they sound just as horrible as regular foxes do. This litter I got from a friend over there. He found them when their mother was killed but didn't want to really keep them in the country. The prejudice … well, I can understand that at least, so I took them in. Although it looks like I only have three left here."

Hermione clearly saw four, and she said so. Ms. Wright's lips perked up at the corners and her eyes glittered in amusement as she watched the young girl. "Well, no one's _forcing_ you to take him, but he'll be very sad if you don't. The little monster escaped from his pen just to see you, you know. He seems to think you'd be a great human to bond with as a familiar."

The fox seemed to agree – or it may have wanted to show off to his siblings – because he ran around the feet of the witch playfully, a blur of platinum fur and breathy yips of glee. Mrs. Granger watched as the playful ball of nine-tailed carefreeness elicited a giggle from the young girl and she knew she would let her bring it home.

"But…" Young Hermione looked down at the kitsune with a frown. "Mum and dad couldn't have people over if I had this kind of pet. I mean, if he were a cat-"

It was while suppressing a chuckle that Samantha watched the fox shift right before the girl's eyes into the shape of a platinum cat with black facial markings and a black-tipped tail just to end up seated at Hermione's feet as if beaming proudly at the girl for its successful trick.

"The kitsune are shapeshifters," the shopkeeper chuckled at the startled faces. "I suppose another reason for them being demons in myths, but very handy for you, I suppose. I'm sure he would change into a cat whenever you needed him to if you took him as a familiar."

"But isn't a familiar just a witch's pet?" Hermione scrunched her face up.

With a quirk of the brow, Samantha motioned to the group of baby kitsune. "Try holding a different kitsune. I guarantee you'll definitely feel the difference."

While the woman wasn't overly condescending to her, Hermione took it as an ' _I'm right, you're wrong'_ moment in the worst sort of way. She was too proud to refuse the challenge and promptly walked over to the kitsune pen to try an pick up on of the siblings. Her kitsune clearly wanted to help in that regard, because it yipped and yowled at its kin, presumably to behave because they all stilled as she reached in to pick one of them up. Her hands brushed against one, but when it moved she started slightly and reached for a different fox all together.

The one she did pick up had a similar blonde-white colouring as her fox but with reddish tips to her tails instead of the black. Even when her hand first brushed its sides she knew it wasn't the same, just as Ms. Wight said. While there was something to be said for how adorable the kitsune was, she felt none of the same magical kinship when she was in her arms then she did for her brother. She quickly lowered it back into the pen.

"I don't see the difference," she lied between her teeth. Her kitsune – the black-tipped beauty on the ground – gave her a look and magical feeling of utter disappointment that punched her right in the stomach before turning away from her and jumping back into the pen with its siblings.

Mrs. Granger watched as her daughters' pride cost her yet again and waited for the next sign of what she should do. Samantha, however, seemed to know exactly what was needed. The woman was no nonsense as she reached into the cage to grab the running animal and drag it from it pen.

"Now here you," Samantha said to the fox, "she's your witch now, you know; you picked her. If she treats you poorly, you nip her fingers but you DON'T run away."

The owner shot a look at Hermione who was wide-eyed for the moment, before turning back to the kitsune and whispering conspiratorially in his face. "But you did get your feelings hurt. How about this? She's not your mistress yet, so you can just stay here with me! You don't have to go with the mean little witch."

Hermione was close to tears. Her mother watched as she stepped closer to the store-keep but then doing something her mother had seen too often – safely keeping her distance. Both shopkeep and kitsune would have been pleased to have the witch come and gather the fox in her arms, but because there was another person involved she was holding back, afraid to get into their personal space. It was both pride and fear that kept little Hermione always out of people's space; she worried she wasn't welcome, and was too proud to ask if she was.

Coming up behind her little girl, Mrs. Granger whispered in her ear, "I think we could use a pet like him in the house. Do you think he'd forgive you if you said sorry?"

Hermione shook her trussed brown-haired head. "Ms. Wright won't let me have him."

"What have your dad and I told you about asking forgiveness?" she whispered again. "Even if he doesn't forgive you, you should still say sorry. The little fox wanted to be your friend and he deserves an apology."

Finally, Hermione nodded and shuffled herself closer to the fox and the shopkeep.

"Miss Wright?" Hermione mumbled. "I'm sorry. Can I talk to him?"

When she handed over the kitsune, Samantha strode up to Hermione's mum and the two women watched with a small smile as the girl spoke softly into the fox's neck, petted him, and then proceeded to be smothered with licks and kissed from the kitsune.

Samantha gave Mrs. Granger a sad smile. "Is your girl going to Hogwarts?"

"So we've been told," she observed the discomfort in the blonde's face and probed deeper. "Is something wrong with that school?"

"The school's not much worse than the rest of that world," Samantha told her with pain in her eyes. "That world, well … it's stuck in Middle Ages. It's hard to be in the magical world as what we are."

"What you are?"

"Muggleborns." The eyes that were so kind before hardened. "There was nearly a coup less than ten years ago by a bunch of bigots who think muggles, and anyone related to muggles, are inferior. Many of wizards still think that. Do you know why I own a regular pet store with just a few magical pets in the back?"

Mrs. Granger didn't need to think, but she still motioned for an answer.

"Because I love Britain too much to leave, but I couldn't get a job in magical Britain," she said with a resigned and sad smile. "I had to get my GSCEs and work a while before I finally converted this place into a shop. People talk about the magical world being beyond that sort of discrimination, but . . ."

The unfinished sentence lingered over their heads and reverberated in Mrs. Granger's mind, even as the two women watched the girl and her little baby kitsune play before them.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

The evening of her eleventh birthday was a Thursday, and nothing was going on in her house but a little bit of magic, cake, and music. Black Forest cake with heavy amounts of whipped cream and canned cherries, old musicals banging over the stereo, and Hermione stringing together charms so the air was filled with different pieces of magic. Little objects that she'd transfigured into flying birds, brooms, bubbles, or what-have-you were flying around the room and Hermione was enjoying this one night that she was allowed to do magic however she wanted without her parents restricting her.

Hermione was practicing a new charm with her hand, banishing objects. Her parents had only _just_ given her permission to try it, so long as she only did it to small things like pens and didn't try it on the vegetables they put on her dinner plate. Tomatoes really deserved to be banished, in Hermione's opinion, but she had promised not to so her parents would let her even do the spell.

Regardless of the restrictions, she was having genuine fun with her kitsune and her magic. Daedalus (she'd decided to name the little fox after the Greek inventor from mythology only after seeing the little kit turn into a bird) was happy to jump around and chase the flying plane models and party decorations that were Mathilda-ing around the room and he was even more excited to jump to the highest place on his massive cat climber to do so, sometimes landing unceremoniously on his stomach instead of paws or on top of her dad who was sitting on the couch. It was as if the fox didn't know it could just turn into a bird and fly to grab the planes, but Hermione supposed Daedalus was allowed to have fun in his own way.

 _Knock, knock, knock._

Hermione's parents looked at her and she immediately waved her hand and banished the little transfigured decorations to the corner so they could make sure whoever it was didn't see the magic. With another movement, Daedalus jumped onto her lap and shifted into the blonde and black cat he was whenever guests arrived. With everything done, she grabbed the piece of cake she'd neglected and took a sugary cherry on her fork to eat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Hermione heard from the entry hall, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. May I come in?"

"Actually, we're just celebrating a birthday," her dad said.

"That's why I'm here," the voice responded. "I'm aware you've had visits in the past, yes? You know about the school I represent? Hogwarts?"

There was shuffling, and her dad's head popped around the corner. He gave her a smile. "Hey, sweetheart, do you mind if another witch joins your party?"

Hermione gave him an enthusiastic nod, although she couldn't smile properly if she didn't want to show half-chewed cake. He chuckled.

"Alright then, come right on in!" he called to the hallway. Dad plopped himself on the sofa and motioned towards the corner of flying things. "I think you're safe, sweetheart."

Daedalus shifted back into his nine-tailed form and Hermione released her little pantheon of mischief and they started flying again just as an older lady made her way into the living room with her mother. When she paused in the doorway with her eyes widened, Hermione took a good look at her.

It was definitely an older person, older than her mum and dad. She had graying hair that was pulled back in a stern bun, and green robes that reached down to her feet. Glasses and a pucker about her lips made her seem stern, but the way she was looking around the room didn't express it the same way. She looked … amazed?

"This is magic," she seemed to say it with a touch of wonder. Her eyes turned to Hermione. "You did this?"

"I've been practicing. Want to see?" Hermione asked excitedly, extending a hand. One of the little flying planes (this one was a model daddy Granger built, as he liked to do in his spare time) came to her hand when she called it. " _Finite Incantatum._ " The engine in the small plane stopped. "I could make it start again, but I want to show you another trick I learned. _Avifors_."

The grey Bristol Beaufighter TF10 turned into an equally grey bird. The bird was set to take off, but Hermione muttered, " _Petrificus Totalus_."

When the bird froze in her hand, she looked up apologetically to the visitors. "Sorry. I know its mean not to let them fly, but dad gets cross if I let his model planes get away. He spends _hours_ on them."

Minerva gaped. "Dear child, where did you learn all these spells?"

"One of the Ministry workers bring books every now and again," her mother interjected. "It is really kind of him. She's taken to it quite well without a wand, we think."

"'Quite well' seems an understatement," the lady said primly. She extended a hand to Hermione, who took it immediately. "I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Mistress at Hogwarts. That transfiguration spell you just did is a second-year spell, Miss Granger. I must say I'm impressed."

"You teach transfiguration?" Hermione bounced up, scaring Daedalus away and ran to the bookshelf, pulling a book from the shelf. It was a well-worn, or well-loved, copy of _Fawley's Complete Index for Spell Reversals and Everyday Magic._ She saw Professor McGonagall take it in with avid interest. "I tried this last week, but I couldn't do it!"

"Ah, clothing charms," the Professor said with a smile at the page. She didn't see Hermione flinching at the glare her mother sent her way. "It's something nearly every girl from Fourth year up wants to know. Now changing the fabric from one to another is fairly standard, but what exactly were you trying to do to your dress? Most of it is charm-work, very little transfiguration."

Hermione bit her lip. "I … It was too big."

"Hermione, what have we said about being honest with what we're using magic for?" her mother said sternly from the couch. "Tell the Professor why you truly wanted to change your dress. If she's going to be your teacher, you will need to be completely transparent with her as well."

The girl huffed, and Minerva watched the exchange closely. She could tell they'd had this conversation many times over the years.

"I'm sorry, mum," Hermione's arms sagged. "Professor, Julie is always just so … pretty. I always feel so ugly. I thought if I could change my dress to be like hers, I might be pretty."

"We've forbidden her from using the beauty charms in that book," her mother told Minerva quickly. "She should be comfortable in her own skin first, and we won't permit her to try to change herself to some vapid expectations. She thought she'd go around the rule by transfiguring fancy clothing. We want her to be able to do it, certainly, but only for her own growth; we don't use magic for selfish reasons, right Hermione?"

"No," the girl sighed, slumping into her chair.

McGonagall observed the scene with acute amusement. "I am surprised to see you have such a good handle on magic in your household."

The family straightened. "Thank you, but this is a little off topic. We have some concerns about Hermione attending your school. Won't you please have a seat?"

Once McGonagall sat, Hermione started picking at her cake. They'd talked about it, but she was embarrassed that her parents were going to do this to someone so important. Church was necessary and Hermione knew that, but she really wanted to learn magic. They weren't going to let her if she didn't go to church every week.

"Would you like some cake?" Hermione jumped up, hoping to please the stern witch before her parents ruined everything. At her slight nod, Hermione successfully levitated a piece of cake onto a plate and brought it over to the teacher. The woman gave her a prim smile that still made Hermione feel about an inch tall.

"Now, what is it you wish to ask?"

"We understand that the students are confined to the school," her mother started it off. "True?"

"Of course," McGonagall replied. "For the safety of the students."

"And we understand that," Dan interjected, "but what about the religious students?"

McGonagall's eyes softened and she turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you wish to participate in muggle religion while at Hogwarts, is that it?"

Hermione bit her lip. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"As it happens, we have a few students in the school who do participate in muggle religion or their wizarding equivalents," McGonagall assured her. "Now, first, what faith is this?"

"We're Mormons," the Grangers told her. "A type of Christian."

"Ah," McGonagall nodded. "Not one usually seen in the wizarding world, Christians. I'm afraid I don't remember all the rules …. Are there any dietary restrictions?"

The couple shared a look. "Nothing that you should be feeding our daughter, regardless. No tea, coffee, or alcohol. I trust nothing you use in classes for the students has tobacco in it?"

"No," but McGonagall thought about it. "Maybe. I will need to ask Sybil what's in that incense she uses in the tower if your daughter decides to pursue Divination. And we'll have to skip tea leaf reading in that case as well. And we'll check with our Potion's Master to see if any of our medicines contain the plant or any alcohols. Any others?"

"No."

"And I presume you have a weekly worship?" McGonagall continued.

"Yes, and if Hermione can't come home for Sundays we need to figure out where the closest meeting is," her mother asserted.

McGonagall took out a quill and made a note on her sheet. "Unfortunately, students need to be accompanied to their religious meetings directly by a faculty member. Our Muggle Studies Professor, Charity Burbage, takes a group Fridays to a mosque in London and Sunday morning to mass."

"We don't want to cause problems, but we aren't Catholic," her parents reminded the Deputy Headmistress. "Mass isn't her service."

Hermione shrank into her seat, but to her eternal relief the elder witch didn't seem put out by her mother.

"Of course," Minerva said, looking down her sheet. "So with Miss Burbage busy taking other students to their religious gatherings, we'll have to find a staff member you're comfortable with to accompany Miss Granger to hers."

"We can't just take her?" the parents asked.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Unfortunately not. According to the Ministry, during the school year Hogwarts is responsible for all muggleborn students. To leave her with you when she's supposed to be at school would be termed as neglect. Not accurate, but unfortunately policy."

"What about non-muggleborn students?" Dan asked shrewdly. "Are you responsible for them as well?"

The teacher sat up straighter. "Not to that degree. So long as we give the child to a magical parent, then we are in the clear."

"That's not fair," Hermione protested. "Mum and Dad don't have magic."

"As I said, it is a mandate. Not one I'm proud of, mind, but that is how it is," she reminded them. "Don't worry, though. We will make some kind of accommodation for your daughter to attend your worship. Are there any buildings for your faith near Inverness?"

There was some discussion, but after a while Mrs. Granger just couldn't keep it in anymore. "Dan, I'm going to speak with Professor McGonagall for a moment in the study. You know, about our other concern."

Dan nodded, but Hermione popped up from her seat and grabbed her hand before she could leave and gave her a look of pure panic.

"She agreed though, mom!" Hermione pleaded. "Please let me go to Hogwarts, please?"

Emma gave her daughter a genuine smile. "Of course, darling. I just want to make sure she knows the rules, right?"

It was a white lie, but there was no perfect way to parent a magical child. Especially one who has an independent streak a mile wide. Hermione wouldn't hesitate to sick Daedalus on her father and slip away to eavesdrop on their conversation if there wasn't some sort of explanation.

After leading the woman to the study and shutting the door behind them, Hermione's mother began telling the woman about their interaction with Samantha a few months prior. When she expressed her worries about Hermione's future, the elder witch only gave her a tight-lipped nod of acknowledgement.

"So there is this inequality at your school," Emma sighed.

McGonagall levelled her gaze at the woman. "Not if I can help it, me nor the Headmaster. Our staff work hard to allow the learning environment to be a safe and educational one for _all_ students. With your daughter as advanced as she is, there shouldn't be a problem.

"However," she continued with pursed lips, "I have experienced some, erm, _difficulties_ in placing our muggleborn students after they leave the school. Your fears are not completely unfounded."

"Well, what are we to do?" the muggle woman insisted. "We're not allowed to keep our daughter from your magical school – they told us you'd take her away if she used magic again – and we can't let our daughter grow up uneducated towards her future."

Emma paused. "I guess we could send her lessons, try to prepare her for her GSCEs and A-levels. Have her take tests each summer and get her studied up. But is there any support there at the school to help her with this?"

"I will ensure it."

There was a moment's pause before McGonagall broached another topic. "Was that a baby _kitsune_ I saw with your daughter before?"

"That fox never leaves Hermione's side for long," Emma told her with a smile. "Sleeps in her bed, weaves between her legs when she walks …. It nearly breaks her heart to leave Dae at home for school, even though we added him to family a year ago."

McGonagall pursed her lips at this – not maliciously, but thoughtfully – and nodded at the younger adult. "It listens to the young Miss Granger?"

"As much as anyone does," the woman nodded. "I believe that's normal for familiars in your world, or so I've been told."

A quirk of McGonagall's brow. "I presume it was a Ms. Wright who elightened you as to that particular term."

"Yes, when we went to her pet shop in Bromley," the muggle mother confirmed with a small smile. "Hermione needed to see some birds to get that bird-summoning spell right, so we took a trip. That little nine-tailed fox ambushed us and they've been inseparable since."

"A strange familiar, especially for a witch so young, but I've seen stranger in my years," McGonagall acknowledged. "Well, Hogwarts tends to only allow three types of pets within Hogwarts; owls, cats, or toads. But," she raised her hand at the mother's concerned face, "we wouldn't dream of separating a child from their familiar. Your daughter will be allowed to bring her kitsune to Hogwarts. Of course she will be in classes and may not be able to care for the fox at her leisure, but we have house-elves – magical helpers – that take care of any welcomed creature's needs while with us. He will be taken care of.

"Please ignore that section of her Hogwarts letter and inform your daughter she may bring her familiar on three conditions …"

Their discussion continued over the finer points of Hermione's future school days, her health and safety, and when it ended McGonagall left into the night with none of those lighter topics but instead some rather heavy thoughts about the young witch she'd just visited. Luckily she had a year before they had to figure out what to do with the tender-aged Miss Granger.

* * *

McGonagall's notes on Hermione would go uncovered for the rest of the year until it was time for the pre-term school staff meeting put on by the Headmaster. She reviewed all the new muggleborns that had received or would receive their letters by the fall start and her notes on each of the meetings. There was a growing reluctance to send kids to boarding school amongst muggleborn parents, but they all had agreed in the end.

The staff filed into the room, heavy with notes from the past year and sometimes a stack of grading. Severus Snape walking in with nothing at all, head high and his robes billowing behind him. The only one to arrive after him was the purple-covered Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Good day, everyone!" he greeted cheerfully. "Another year ended, a wonderful one too. Well done!"

"Tell that to Barry," Vector huffed from her seat. "Another Defense Professor gone, this time offed by _slugs_."

"Beauty is not a requirement for teaching," Severus pointed out with a self-deprecating smirk. "He was probably running from the students. Lord knows what they'd do to a Defense Professor who was bested by a flesh-eating slime."

McGonagall sighed and hit her head. "Can we get on with the meeting? I, for one, would like a small vacation."

"Right you are, Minerva. First, the financials for next year."

They went through budget division, curriculum changes, and recommendations for the empty Defense post. Then Minerva handed out a list of muggleborn students.

"A few concerns for this next year," Minerva commented. "With more muggleborns, we'll need all of you actively looking out for any deficiencies in their knowledge. Heads especially. The cultural differences are rather extreme. And we have one muggleborn with a magical familiar that should, perhaps, meet with you, Silvanus – are you familiar with caring for a kitsune kit?"

Professor Kettleburn was suddenly very attentive to the meeting. "A kitsune, you say? I'll have to brush up on my East Asian creatures. They are rather rare, aren't they? However did this muggleborn come across one?"

"Unbelievably, at a muggle pet store run by one of our previous muggleborns, Miss Samantha Wright," Minerva said with a smile. "From your house as I recall, Pomona. The kitsune belongs to Miss Granger and the familiar bond was quite apparent, as I recall. Make sure to inform the elves, Albus, and consult with Silvanus for its care and diet for when Miss Granger is in classes."

Minerva checked that item off her list then scrolled down.

"Another matter for Miss Granger. Charity, Mr. Finch-Fletchley will be joining your group for mass in the Fall," McGonagall informed the Professor. "However, a staff member will need to accompany Miss Granger to her service in Iverness each Sunday as well."

Severus scoffed. "Naïveté, thy name is religion. What, pray tell, does the girl practice?"

"She's Christian as well, but attends to the Mormon faith," McGonagall read from her sheet. "Oh, and Severus, do any potions in Poppy's stores contain tobacco, coffee, tea leaves, or alcohol? The girl can't drink any potions with those."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course she can't. Luckily for everyone, the board would kill us if we handed out liquored potions, tea leaves and coffee have no medicinal qualities besides as stimulants, and tobacco is only used in salves. She will have no need to _drink_ that ingredient. Simply inform Poppy not to provide the girl with Pepper-Up when she returns from holiday."

"Wonderful," McGonagall gave him a condescending smile. "Now, who wants to accompany her?"

"What times?" Dumbledore asked, barely interested.

She checked her sheet. "It's a three-hour service each Sunday. Before New Years it will be 8AM, and after it is switched to 11AM."

"Perhaps you should, Minerva," Severus suggested, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "You are, after all, in charge of the muggleborns."

"And a Head of House, and Deputy Headmistress to this old man who always leaves me to handle financials," she mocked, earning a twinkling laugh from the Headmaster, " _and_ I still need to be in the school for the other muggleborns. So perhaps you should, Severus. You don't seem as swamped as the rest of us, and I happen to know you have a muggle suit in the back of your closet."

Suddenly the lack of parchment in front of Severus was no longer a sign of superiority, but of weakness. The Potions Master went on the offensive.

"Perhaps it should be the girls' Head of House then," he put forth. "If she ends up in Slytherin-"

"We all know there's never been a muggleborn in Slytherin, Severus," Professor Vector said with a grin. He glowered at his Slytherin co-worker. "The hat is simply incapable of the feat. Come now, take her on. Maybe it'll be good for you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "No, Septima, it will not. Perhaps one of the teachers who are not teaching the mandatory courses? They won't need the weekends to themselves."

He was promptly overruled by everyone; the blood was in the water and nothing would dissuade these sharks. Still, he persevered. "Have you all forgotten the most important part of picking a guardian for these trips? The parents must approve. I can guarantee no parent wants me so regularly around their precious daughter."

"They're muggles," Charity pointed out. "They don't know your history."

"If you make me go, I will inform them personally," Severus growled. "My place is not in a place of worship. Why can't Sybil take the girl? This hogwash is right up her alley."

The Divination Professor turned shaky at the thought. "Magic feeds the Inner Eye. I would be blind in the muggle world!"

"Win-win," Snape muttered, earning a swat from McGonagall. "Claws in, cat!"

Dumbledore silenced them all by clapping. "I think it sounds wonderful, Severus. If the parents agree, I see no reason why you should not. You are the youngest of us, after all. You can stand to run around for a few hours."

"I'll be bored," the man shot back, his frustration showing. McGonagall chuckled. "What is it, woman?"

"I think you and Miss Granger would get along quite nicely," she informed him, earning another glower. "When would you like to meet her?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

"Mum! Dad! Are you ready?" Hermione called up the stairs. "We need to go!"

"Sweetie, it's still early," her mother came down the stairs with bleary eyes. "Your professor's not going to be at this place for another few hours."

"But we can't be late!" Hermione whined. "What if I don't get my school supplies? I get my wand today, I can't miss it!"

"Hermione," her dad came down the stairs to give her a stern look, although he broke it with a yawn, "your mother and I _will_ get ready and we _will_ take you there early, like we agreed. But you can't demand too much from people, okay? Not everyone has the same standards. They're, _aaaahhhh_ , all trying their best, just like your teachers. Remember our talk?"

Hermione nodded reluctantly. She never liked her elementary school teachers, because they never taught at a good pace. Her parents told her they had to teach so that all the kids could understand, but she didn't get why they couldn't. She kind of understood that she didn't really blame her teachers, they were just doing their jobs, but she did judge the other kids even when she tried not to. They just seemed so …. Stupid.

"Are you going to be nice to the other kids today?" her dad asked. "Try to make friends?"

"I don't like other kids and they don't like me," Hermione protested. "They don't understand anything, and they think I'm weird."

"That's at your old school," he said gently. "You have to give these kids a chance to like you, okay? You can't say they aren't smart if you've never met them, can you sweetie?"

"No, dad," her anger ran from her shoulders down her arms. Dad always knew how to get her to calm down.

"And if people are mean, what does that say about them?" Her daddy encouraged.

At this, Hermione smiled. It was something dad had told her many times over the years. "They are hurting, or don't know better. It isn't my fault."

"It's not," her dad affirmed. "Everyone can choose to control their emotions. You can't _force_ anyone to feel angry or sad. If you're trying to be kind and they get upset, that's on them."

"I know," Hermione said softly. "Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

She bit her lip. "I-I'm not scared, I promise. I want to go! I'm excited! But … what if I need you guys? What if I want to come home?"

Her dad leaned down and gave her a hug, and mum followed suit. They had her in a family hug when mum answered her questions.

"Professor McGonagall told us that you'll be put into little houses with other kids, and that the prefects are like the parents. There's even a Head Girl and Head Boy to help you."

"But they're kids!" Hermione protested. "Kids don't like me!"

Her mum stroked her hair. "If you need to, I'm sure you can talk to any of your teachers. They're supposed to take care of you too, like we would."

"Then … I should help them like I help at home," Hermione decided. "It will be my home, so I should contribute."

Her parents laughed, making Hermione feel just a little better. "I'm sure if they need your help, they will ask. But, even if you don't need to do anything, there's nothing wrong with offering help and making sure you treat them kindly."

Hermione nodded, still biting her lip.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart," her dad told her. "Say your prayers every morning and night, read your scriptures, and trust the feelings the Spirit prompts. You're a good girl, and I know you'll make us proud. Just … tone it down a little, just at first? Let people see you without your books so they can get to know you."

Hermione slumped. "They should like me _with_ my books."

"They will, once they get to know you," her mom promised. "But they can't get to know you if you're always behind a book, can they? Now, come on. You need some breakfast before such a big day. How do you feel about oatcakes?"

SSHGSSHGSSHG

Hermione's determination to be fast made them the first ones at the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed extremely uncomfortable in the dingy environment, nervously standing in the doorway for a few moments before taking their daughter's hands and heading up to the bar.

"Looking for someone?" the barkeep asked with a quirked brow.

Mr. Granger nodded. "Erm, a Professor McGonagall?"

The barkeep pointed to a small doorway. "Go on an' 'ead through there to wait. She ain't 'ere yet."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger pulled Hermione to the door while Hermione called, "Thank you!" to the strange man. Both her parents shared a worried smile at her naïveté but didn't say anything to the little girl. She was kind and naïve, and that was fine as an 11-year-old. Just … not in the middle of a dingy bar.

Slowly but surely, more parents and kids arrived in the back room. Her parents would introduce themselves and present business cards to those who lived near London, the other adults would do the same, and then they seemed to simultaneously introduce their kids to each other. Hermione was forcibly introduced to the other kids who seemed just as weirded out as she was by the adults, but she played nice until the Deputy Headmistress arrived.

After brief introductions and a wave of her wand at the bricks in the room, they were entranced to see the wall open up to reveal an entire street that looked straight out of the sixteenth century.

"Alright students!" Professor McGonagall called the moment they entered the alley. "This is Diagon Alley. It is our biggest shopping district in Wizarding Britain, so you will understand why you need to keep together in our group. We don't want anyone getting lost today."

Everyone shuffled close to their parents, and Minerva nodded in approval. "Follow me closely now! We'll begin with a visit to Gringotts, the Wizard Bank. There you can exchange your pounds to galleons or even open an account for your children. Come along!"

It was hard to miss Gringotts. It was tall and multi-storied, positively towering over the other shops in the alley. It was snow white, grand, and _very very_ imposing. It reminded Hermione of magic itself, especially when she felt the buzz in her own when the crossed the doorway.

"Did you feel that?" she said excitedly to the nearest child, a well-groomed little boy named Justin.

"Feel what now?" he asked.

Hermione hopped up and down. "The magic! Right at the door!"

Justin just looked at her like she was mad, but nothing could diminish Hermione's mood today. She practically bobbed as they approached the desk of one of the short little creatures. They looked strange, but no less strange than the people outside dressed in funny hats. They, at least, were dressed in little suits.

"What is your business with Gringotts today?" the goblin said with a toothy sneer.

Hermione cocked her head. "Are you alright, sir? Are we bothering you? We can go to another teller."

The goblin looked down at her in surprise while her parents looked surprised at her question.

"Hermione, we're not close to this, er, person," her daddy said.

"I am as well as I have ever been," the goblin said after a moment, stopping her dad's reproof. "You are a wizarding child, are you not?"

Hermione was puzzled. "I'm a witch, if that's what you mean. These are my parents, they're not. We need to convert pounds to the wizarding currency. How does that work by the way? Is there one magical money that is used in all the countries, or is it like normal money that's different depending on the country?"

The goblin looked surprised. "It is different for each wizarding community, but the same across Europe."

"That's so cool! It's like the Euro for wizards!" Hermione blurted, hopping up and down. "And what kind of magical person are you, sir? Are you dwarves?"

"Goblins," the creature said with a chucking laugh. "You are strange, little one. Are you not afraid of us?"

"Afraid?" she looked at him again. "Bankers aren't scary, though. I mean, your teeth maybe …"

The goblin shook his head and gave her a toothy grin before turning to her parents. "How much are you here to convert today?"

While the goblin sent for the currency, Hermione pestered him with questions.

"Why is this place called Gringotts?" Hermione blurted, unable to contain herself.

"Hermione, he is not here to answer your questions," her daddy told her gently. "You can't pester him."

"We have time while they fetch your galleons," the goblin waved of her dad's complaints and leaned over the desk to regard her more closely. "I don't mind your questions, little one. We are called Gringotts because it is the name of our clan of goblins."

"You have a clan? Like they did in Scotland?" Hermione followed up quickly "Like a family?"

"Not quite," the goblin chuckled. "No, we are our own government, little witch. Our own nation, if you will."

"If you're a different country, why do you handle this one's money?" she asked, even more confused. "Aren't you citizens, since you live here?"

The goblin scowled, and Hermione shrank. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't, little witch," he said with a glower. "It is simply not a pleasant topic. In short, no - goblins do not count as people within the wizard's society."

"But, you're a person," she protested, confused. "A smart person, too. A banker."

Dan and Emma were becoming more worried about the goblins there. They kept glancing over to their teller booth thing, as if they were an unusual sight. Normally, they would have attributed it to their daughter's bouncing nature, but they didn't seem amused or even curious. They seemed downright disapproving.

The goblin gave Hermione a smile. "You are an interesting witch, little one. Why do you ask so many questions?"

"How am I supposed to know everything if I don't ask?" she huffed. "I'm supposed to be a know-it-all."

"Hermione, we told you not to call yourself that," her mother remanded immediately. "It's not a kind thing."

"Why not?" Hermione argued. "I want to know it all! I want to know everything! It doesn't have to be an insult."

"An impatient witch, too," the goblin noted, turning to her parents. "Is she always so … undeterrable?"

They nodded emphatically.

A goblin came with a large pouch of coins and gave them to their teller. The goblin handed it to her parents and gave Hermione another happy glance as her parents turned to walk her back out of the bank.

Suddenly thinking of something, Hermione ran back to the goblin, ignoring the protests of her parents. The goblin looked at her in what she'd recognized as amusement.

"Yes, little witch?"

"I didn't learn your name," she said, practically apologizing. _Even goblins must count as neighbours._

Dan and Emma looked at their daughter, so completely unfazed by the strange creature, being so polite to a fault and felt pride. She may be impatient, easily bored, and too quick to judge, but she was also fearless, kind, and curious. Their naive little girl.

"I am Debrok," the goblin replied, his throat clicking slightly at the 'k' in his name and giving it an exotic quality. "Run along, little witch. I have work to do."

Hermione ran back to her parents while waving goodbye to the goblin. "Thank you, Debrok!"

Dan and Emma took each hand of their little girl. "Sweetheart, we don't run off and we _especially_ don't run off to strangers."

"We're supposed to be kind to everyone, dad," Hermione objected. "And he answered my questions. I like him."

She skipped forward with a happy gait, swinging her parents' arms. They shared an exasperated look.

"We still don't want you to run off," her father persevered.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Hermione sighed irritably. "I just wanted to know his name."

McGonagall was waiting for everyone in front of the bank, patiently attending to everyone's questions . When the last family joined the group, she announced the next stop. "Now that you have converted your money, we'll head to what you are all surely looking forward to the most; we're going to Ollivander's to get you all wands!"

Hermione was practically jumping. This was it! She'd been practicing for years, fighting with her magic to obey her wandless – sometimes nonverbal – spells. She'd done every spell in the book, spending weeks getting each of them _just_ right. When she'd done her second bout of accidental magic in front of muggles, guy one – she fondly referred to him as One even though she knew his name was Garret – had brought her another book. It was simpler than the one he'd left before, but it was still the same process to learn each new spell; weeks of practice to control the potency and to be able to consistently get it right.

She hoped with a wand she could learn all her new ones much quicker.

"Ah, Minerva," a Mozart-esque figure greeted them when they entered. "9½", Fir and Dragon Heartstring. Excellent for transfiguration." He winked at the kids. "I never forget a single wand I've sold."

"It's true," Professor McGonagall told them. "He's absolutely uncanny."

Hermione was entranced. He sounded so _smart_. Remembering every wand? Including measurements? What were the wood and heartstring about?

"Welcome to Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.," the man said with a happy smile. "I will tell you what I tell every young witch and wizard who comes into this shop; each wand is different, just like every person. It's not as simple as giving you a wand – oh no! – because the wand chooses the wizard. It takes some trial and error, but in the end you'll find a wonderful companion to help you succeed."

It took a long time for each kid in front of her to go, but she didn't mind. Every child got a different wand, each one accompanied by an analysis from the old, wise owner. He was fascinating, and his wands were even moreso. He spoke about them like they were friends of his. ' _Cherry wood and unicorn hair, a true wonder wand. It's capable of the best charms.' 'Oh, the refined chestnut wand. Keep your head with this one, it's little cocky.' 'Fascinating! Dogwood and phoenix feather. Be ready to assist a stunning performer.'_

It was funny to see the wands pick their new owners. One spouted flowers, another whistled (the dogwood), another practically shot a multi-colour spectacle of sparks like fireworks from its tip. One of the boys even got When he got to her, he took to her with a tape measure and nodded minutely. "Alright, give me a minute."

He went to the shelves and pulled a few boxes from the shelves. 

"Here we are," he deposited the boxes on the desk. "Let's see what there is to you, Miss-"

"Hermione Granger, sir," she inserted politely, although she was still bouncing on heel.

"Miss Granger, try this, please." He handed her a lightly-coloured wand. "Apple wood and unicorn hair."

Hermione took it and felt that it was wrong immediately. She pushed it back into Ollivander's hand, who looked at her curiously.

"You haven't even tried it," he noted.

"It feels wrong," she insisted. "Can we try a different one?"

He seemed to size her up at that, but obediently put the wand back in its box and banished it to its place on the shelves, but he did the same with another two boxes.

"Let's try this one then," Ollivander picked up another wand and extended it to her. "Maybe an alder wand for you, hmmm? Quite a mature wand, likes to be used for advanced spellwork and wandless incantation."

Hermione grabbed it eagerly, but was disappointed when it felt sluggish in her hand.

"Not this one," Hermione said sadly, returning the wand to Ollivander. She had _wanted_ to be described as advanced and mature, but apparently not.

He went back to the shelves and grabbed a few more wands. The went through cypress and fir, kingwood and laurel. The laurel was closest, but still not quite right. It felt nearly scalding in her hand, and she pressed it back into the wandmaker's hand with a strangely sad feeling.

"I almost want it to be that one," Hermione admitted when he put it back. "I'm sorry I'm being difficult."

"Ah, it's no matter," he dismissed quickly with a light in his eyes that made her like the man. "We learn from every wand that passes through your hand. For example, I've decided you're definitely a dragon heartstring kind of girl. It's just the wood we need to find."

At Hermione's dejected face, he tried to comfort her. "Each wand has a personality, little witch, and in this endeavor, as in friendship, not just any wand will do. We're not finding you a piece of wood - we're finding you a _partner_."

He took his latest batch of wands back to the shelves, unaware of the impact his words had on the little girl. Her parents did, though. They saw how her face, that had been so excited upon entering the shop, now looked so hopeless. They knew she hadn't had friends for a long time; they had blamed the magic, or at least its secrecy. It had developed a wall between her and her peers. Before her magic hit, she'd been at least somewhat sociable with one or two people, but after … It was only her teachers and them. Authourity seemed to calm her, make it easier for her to interact and associate. Today had been a blessing to see because all of those walls had come down around others with her powers, but they could see just how debilitating those years of hiding had been to her. She was just so afraid of not being wanted, no matter how much she tried to hide it. Even if it was just a wand, any rejection hurt their daughter deeply.

They didn't need to worry. Ollivander returned with two more wands for her to try.

"These wands are a little fussier about who they choose," Ollivander told her with a smile, "but I think they might be closer to what you need. Here." He handed her a wand made of a sand-coloured wood with a long handle. "Myrtle and dragon heartstring, 9", reasonably flexible. An excellent healing wand, quite grounded."

Hermione took the wand a little more tentatively in her hand and waved it in a _lumos_. It worked for her, the light coming through the wand readily enough. It still felt off, though, like something was missing.

"A good match, but not quite what you need," the old man said with a gentle smile. "Let's try the next one."

He put the wand away and pulled a honey-hued wand from its velvet holder. It looked so . . . pretty, to Hermione at least. The honey wood had little streaks of darker colour that climbed up the wand and divided the patterned handle into a pretty contrast.

"Gorse wood and dragon heartstring, 10½", unyielding but for a little give," Ollivander introduced it. "A fiery wand. Quite like the myrtle, it's wonderful for protective and healing magics but also unsuitable for divination. That being said it is also a proficient dueling wand as it is far more … prickly than the last, so take care where you direct it."

Hermione accepted the outstretched wand with a bit of excitement. This was a wand she really wanted to hold; it looked like a proper witch's wand, organic-looking because of the colours in the wood but wonderfully distinguished and swishy, straight and perfectly smooth. The handle was carved with the loveliest Celtic design but was smoothed over with lacquer to keep it just as smooth as the shaft. Immediately, the wand emitted a few sunny yellow sparks and nearly glowed happily when she held it in her hand. The glow extended into her, it seemed, and the magic rejoiced at the happy tingle she got from the wand. The wand was warm and comforting, seemingly filled with a strong spirit. The wandmaker was right; the wand felt like a friend. She beamed up at the wonderful Mr. Ollivander who gave her a pleased smile.

"A wonderful match," he agreed with her unspoken sentiments, and proffered her a sneaky smile. "You know, gorse usually chooses unicorn hair to complement its light nature, but with dragon heartstring ... You're going to be quite impossible to contain, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Hermione said with an enthusiastic, somewhat cheeky smile back.

Ollivander laughed. "And proud of it too. Well, I'm not too worried. The gorse's energy is a lot like sunshine; I will only look forward to seeing what grows under your influence, Miss Granger."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, but he'd said it with an important and informative enough tone to make her curious. Before she could ask, she realized the other kids were anxious to get to the other shopping and she shouldn't delay them. So she thanked him for his words and _especially_ for the wand and followed her parents out of the shop.

The more Hermione went around that day, picking up books and supplies, the encounter in the shop stuck with her. Just … how did a wand pick someone? How did he make wands so they had personalities?

She knew her parents wouldn't be okay with her running off, but she needed answers. When they were distracted in the Apothecary, she snuck out the open door and headed back to Ollivander's.

The man looked up as the bell dinged on the door, apparently unsurprised by her appearance.

"Hermione Granger," Ollivander left his ledger on the desk and approached her. "I wondered if you might be back in my shop today."

"I-I was curious," Hermione stammered. "I'm sorry if-"

"You're not a bother, of course," he offered her the chair in the corner and she sat there while the old man leant upon his desk. "So, you want to know how my wands come to be, do you?"

"How do they have personalities?" she asked quickly. "Does that mean they're alive?"

"In short, no," Ollivander answered kindly. "The wands are very much an extension of their wizard or witch, Miss Granger. The 'personalities' as we call them are revealing of their aptitude for certain aspects of a person's disposition."

Clearly, he realized how lost she was and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts into a more recognizable order. "Fire, Miss Granger. Fire burns, emits heat, and can catch on other flammable objects, correct?"

She nodded.

"Now, picture different types of fire that can only burn very specific types of wood, or materials," he continued. "If I had a fire that could only burn left socks, but you only had the right ones, would you be able to use it?"

"No, sir."

He nodded. "So it is with your magic. The wands can only use your magic, or socks, if that's what it responds to. For example, your wand reacts best to people who already are in tune with their magic. It tells me you've dabbled in wandless magic before your trip to the Alley today."

She blushed.

He gave her a shrewd look. "The difference between a fire, Miss Granger, and your magic is that your magic is directly linked to who you are. Your personality or soul – as some would say – is the guide for your magic. If you're a little cocky or kind or violent, generally the wand will be the same. If you don't have the aptitude for, say, craftmanship, then your wand generally won't either.

"Some wands do select wizards who complement them, rather than match them," Ollivander explained as well. "However, the magic of the person has to know that those pieces are missing and _want_ to be rounded out. So you see, the personalities of the wands are genuinely the personalities of the person the wand is waiting for. Each wood can support certain personalities, but it does not have one of its own."

"That makes a lot more sense," Hermione agreed, but then looked at the shelves. "Do you have every type of personality here?"

"Heavens no," he laughed. "No, Miss Granger, that would take as much room as the Alley. Each person is very different, but the wand doesn't need to be so specific. Wands grow with the wizard or witch, learning with every spell and with each bit of time spent in their proximity. So, you see, I only need to get close."

Hermione giggled at the twinkle in his eyes as he said that. "That's amazing, sir."

"Thank you." The man gave a little bow.

"Hermione!" her parents stormed into the shop to see their daughter sat in the waiting chair, talking to Ollivander. A man in black entered just behind them, still as a statue to observe the scene. "We told you not to run off!"

"It was no problem," Ollivander told them kindly. "It's not often I get to inspire a love of my craft into one so young."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, but Hermione knows she can't disobey the rules just because she's curious," Emma said sternly, turning to her daughter. "Come on, we're leaving. You are in big trouble, young lady."

Hermione huffed but nodded, trudging towards the door. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. It was really interesting."

"I enjoyed your visit as well," he smiled at the downtrodden girl. "A love of learning should never be discouraged."

"However," the man in black enunciated, his voice dark and deep, "a love of rule-breaking should immediately be _curbed_."

Hermione stared at the man. His face seemed fixed with a permanent scowl, his teeth slightly crooked. His hair was long, but flat in a way hers never could be. He looked proud, standing straight and tall. So, tall, actually; taller than her dad. But his words about rule-breaking seemed to hit her straight in the heart. She had made an adult who she didn't know scowl, she had made someone angry, and it felt bitter inside her.

"Ah, Professor Snape!" Ollivander greeted with a respectful nod. "How is your cherry and dragon heartstring?"

 _Professor?_ Hermione's heart leapt to her throat. _No, this is not how I want to meet a professor!_

The man nodded back. "Still functioning, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you for guarding our wayward ward while I fetched her parents." The man turned to her, his black eyes probing hers. "You are going to be a headache at school."

Hermione shook her head emphatically. "No, sir. I won't be trouble, sir. I'm so sor-"

"Save your apologies for when you truly mean them," Professor Snape sneered cuttingly. "You wanted to come here and you did. You're only sorry you were _caught_ , Miss Granger, and I do not accept apologies for that offense."

Turning to her parents, he gave them a cutting look. "Did you finish your purchasing?"

"No, we still need-"

He held up his hand to cut them off. "Very well. Finish fetching her supplies, then meet me in The Leaky Cauldron, the _wizarding_ side. We have things to discuss."

Without waiting for them to respond, Professor Snape walked out of the shop and down the Alley. Hermione gaped after him in awe. Her heart hurt from his verbal lashing but in a good way, the way she'd been taught comes with personal change. She knew she would try her hardest to earn his good opinion and to never to disappoint Professor Snape again.

Her parents gave her a good five-minute lecture on how irresponsible she'd been, how she could have been taken or lost. She felt bad for making them worry, but their remarks hadn't cut her like Professor Snape's. Her heart still throbbed painfully in a way that made sure she knew to feel sad for days.

They went back to pick up a trunk with the other kids and doubled back to get a potions kit and cauldron after. The trunk was the hardest and best part because they finally got to put down their supplies once they had it picked out and they ended up putting everything in the trunk to be wheeled around with them in the Alley. And it was a brilliant trunk! Real leather, beautiful metal embellishments, and it had a small extension charm on the inside that Hermione had read about, making it even bigger to hold all her things. The hard part, though, was dragging Mr. Granger out of there when he decided he wanted one for himself.

When all the kids had their supplies, Professor McGonagall passed out tickets to the Hogwarts express and gave them clear instructions on how to board the platform. The other families left or wandered around the Alley, but Hermione's parents took her hand and led her directly towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was clear she wouldn't be allowed to wander anymore today.

Professor Snape was sat at a table in the corner with a drink of some amber liquid in his hand. Her parents hesitated at the sight, but nevertheless made their way over to the table and greeted her future Professor. The professor's gaze was as cold as it was stern, and Hermione felt the pangs in her heart when she thought that she _must_ be the reason for his sour mood.

"You may not want your daughter here for this conversation," the Professor led off with. "I could place a silencing charm around her head so she remains oblivious, if you like."

Hermione looked in alarm at her parents, but they simply shook their heads at the Professor. His pleasant smirk seemed to die a little.

"Have a seat."

His tone brokered no argument, and the family sat down with him. Hermione's guilt at her previous behavior was nearly boiling over her lips. Still, the look on his face restrained her from her declarations and apologies.

"The reason for this meeting is my meddling colleagues have decided to volunteer me for the _delightful_ task of accompanying your daughter to her weekly worship," he said with a low voice. "Now, I'm sure you'd prefer a female professor accompany your daughter; all you need do is say so and I'll leave you to your day."

 _Was he my escort?_ Hermione's heart jumped a little. _But he hates me!_

"I don't know about that," her mom said, casting a look at her husband. "You did help us find our daughter today. I'd say you'd be a fine choice."

Snape looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "If that's the case, let me introduce myself.

"I am Severus Snape, and I was once a willing follower to what you would call a war criminal," the Professor elucidated to his audience, his tone low and dangerous. "I am a murderer, a liar, and a criminal in my own right. I became a Potions Master and teacher only because it was convenient, and the potions I have brewed have been used to control politicians, poison enemies, and torture anyone who earned my Master's displeasure."

He leaned back, taking in the pale look on both of her parents' faces. Hermione thought he sounded straight out of a spy thriller, all dark and morally ambiguous. He almost sounded like some kind of supervillain. But why would he tell them if he was?

"Now tell me," Professor Snape drawled, "do you believe someone like me should be around your daughter, let alone in your place of worship?"

Hermione's parents looked at each other, and the silence was deafening between the parties at the table. Professor Snape stood, downed the last of his drink, and deposited some silver coins on the table. The look he gave them was stiffly indifferent.

"I'll send a different Professor to meet with you before the term begins," Professor Snape told them. "Good day."

He started to walk away, and Hermione jumped up. "Wait!"

He froze at the sound of her voice, but barely turned so he was looking at her over his shoulder. His eyes were narrowed and glowering.

"What?" the Professor snapped.

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't thought about what she wanted besides stopping him from leaving. The story he presented with just a few words, the disappointment she obviously was to him, it made her want to prove herself to him. More than that, he was clearly only telling them this because he thought they deserved to know who he was before they had him take care of her. The fact that he was honest was something Hermione felt strangely comforted by. He seemed … angry. But not maliciously. Not like he wanted to hurt her. And that made him okay.

"You aren't still like that, though?" Hermione asked finally.

He rounded on her, his face hard and unfeeling. "You will find, Miss Granger, that even if circumstances change, people remain the same."

"That's not true," Hermione argued. "People change all the time! Did you try to be better, to make things better?"

His face shuddered and she saw something unrecognizable in his eyes. "There is no amount of effort that could be exerted to expunge me of my guilt. I will never be a good man, Miss Granger."

That was a feeling she understood. In the church, there were so many expectations for her behavior that missing one of them left her feeling undeniably inadequate to the task. But she remembered what her dad had told her when she admitted that.

* * *

 _"You really feel that way?" her dad asked, kneeling next to her._

 _Hermione was in tears, and just nodded. "I never remember to pray. I don't like Primary. I can't turn the other cheek to the people in my class, I always insult them right back. I don't do anything right."_

 _Her dad nodded. "Wait right here, I think I know the answer."_

 _He stood and went to his desk, picking up the scripture set he always had there and flipped it open. After a few minutes of searching, he came back and handed it to me. "Verse 27."_

 _"'And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.'"_

 _Her dad wrapped her in a hug. "If you know what's wrong, that's half the battle, sweetheart. No one is perfect, not one. Just know, your Heavenly Father is patient with you. He knows that it can take a 'mighty change of heart' to change in some case, or in others it's a matter of time. That's why he tells us not only to forgive others, but to honour the forgiveness he gives us by forgiving ourselves."_

* * *

Hermione didn't even think. Her legs stepped her forward and her arms wrapped around him. He smelt comforting, like cologne but without the sting. Her heart warmed and she recognized the feeling as an affirmation that she had done the right thing hugging him.

He didn't think that, though.

"Miss Granger, get off me!" Professor Snape cried out. "What are you doing?"

"You needed a hug, sir," Hermione told him, not letting go.

"I do not _hug_ my students," her Professor was still trying to step back and out of her grip. She just moved with him. "Release me."

"Come on, it's just a hug," she looked up at the man. The angry look in his eyes made her back away immediately and fold her hands. Snape straightened his frock coat and looked down at her, and Hermione looked down. "Sir, I … I came across badly today. Don't hate me, please. Can I prove to you that I'm nice? You can come with me on Sundays, sir; I would like that. You can get to know me better…"

He gave her a scathing look. "Do you have no sense, girl? I am _not_ a good man."

"I have a good feeling about you," Hermione smiled up at him shyly. "And you don't do that stuff now, do you?"

Merlin, she was going to be a Gryffindor. Snape had approximately five people in his life who dared to hug him who had not been expressly invited, and four of those were Gryffindors. The other was Tonks, but that little beast probably lost all shame the same place she lost her ability to stand on two legs without destroying something.

"I'm being railroaded by a little girl," he finally sighed. A little stronger, he snarled at the her, "What you believe of me matters little, Miss Granger. Your parents would still need to approve."

Hermione grabbed his hand – he didn't even have time to deal with that particular infraction at that point – and pulled him back to the table, where her parents sat with bemused expressions. "Mum, Dad, Professor Snape is going to bring me to church every week. That's fine, right?"

Her mother's expression melted first, and she nodded. Her dad was harder to read, but eventually nodded as well.

"I trust you, sweetheart. You'll write to us every week, and you'll explain our church to the Professor?"

Hermione nodded excitedly and gripped them both in a hug. "Thank you!"

"None of you have any sense," the Professor groused. "This is _not_ reasonable!"

"Oh, sit back down, Professor," Emma Granger chuckled. "You'll never change Hermione's mind, not like that. Now, maybe you can tell us something more about you?"

"I'm going to need another drink for this," he sighed. With a flick of his hand, the glass soared across the room to Tom, the barkeep, for a refill. When it got its portion of amber liquid restored, he moved to bring it back but the little slip of a girl grabbed his hand once again.

"Ooh, let me!" she jumped excitedly before waving her hand towards the glass. It soared into the girl's outstretched hand, although it spilled a little on the way. She presented it to the wide-eyed Professor with an excited grin. "Here you are!"

He plucked it from her grip and put it on the table immediately. Tom was looking at Miss Granger with the same measure of shock that Severus himself was feeling, even if secretly, so he sat the girl back down and took a seat next to her.

"Miss Granger, _where_ did you learn a wandless, wordless summoning charm?" he asked the girl, his voice low.

Her smile seemed a titch more timid now that she was being interrogated. "I'm sorry I spilled, Professor. Was it okay, though? It's been a while since I've done summoning and banishing; I'm actually working on autonomizing right now. I want to be able to make the dishes do themselves, and maybe make scrub brushes work on their own for the floor. Do you think we'll work through things like that this year in charms?"

"Hermione, we don't use magic for chores," her mother reminded her.

He watched the girl sag. "I know, but what if-"

"No what ifs, no buts," her mother replied. "You can learn it, but you can't use it to do things for you. You need to learn how to live without it as well as with it. You can't always take the easy way out, young lady."

"Even in the Wizarding world, many of our preparations for magic are done without the use of it," Severus added pointedly. The girl's gaze snapped up to his. "Magic isn't just one-off with no consequences, Miss Granger. It lingers in the air, dissipated only over time. Your home undoubtedly has a magical tinge to it that the skilled witch or wizard would notice. This is why some things are better done without magic.

"In potions, for example, any extra magical interference could prove disastrous. If you tried to autonomize the collection of an ingredient, the knife cutting your knotgrass, or even levitate something as simple as a salamander heart into the potion, the very ingredients would be compromised. Laziness is not tolerated in my field."

"Really?" Hermione squealed a little and bounced in her chair. Snape looked at her incredulously. "You teach Potions? That sounds amazing! My book doesn't have any potions at all! It only ever talks about some of the plants and stuff. So potions are really precise?"

"Very," Severus nodded. "But you haven't answered my question; where did you learn wandless, wordless magic?"

"Well, I couldn't have a wand before now," she explained. "I had the book, so I just practiced. When I had it while saying the words, I practiced without them."

"No instruction? No teachers?" Snape frowned. "And you've had no issues learning these spells?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, mum and dad had to help me figure out pronunciations and stuff, and I had to learn phonetics. Transfiguration was hard at first because I couldn't really picture what I was supposed to turn the things into. But even if I didn't get the words right or the image, I could still get it to work a little. I had to go on fieldtrips to get the right image in my head. Then I changed it because of how the magic used the words and I figured it out. Those spells took longer. But I can usually learn a spell in a week or so."

Severus sighed. "You'll have to be more careful than that with your wand, Miss Granger. Since the power expenditure is less with a wand, there is more chance that the spell with go disastrously wrong. The correct movement in wand-based spell work is more important than even the intent, at times, and it must be precise to avoid accidents. Even though you know you cannot use your wand at home, I must also encourage you to never learn spells with your wand when alone, even at the school. Is that understood?"

Hermione nodded somberly. "Yes, sir."

He nodded severely. "Good. Now, tell me about these books."

The little soon-to-be first-year didn't hesitate. To Snape's eyes she practically vibrated as she flung her hands here and there describing the books, which order she'd read them in, and which was her favourite. Her parents often interjected, trying to calm her, redirect her, or elaborate on things their daughter forgot. They were quite a bit quieter than their daughter … Snape had to wonder just where she got this level of energy.

Even more startling than the young witch's demeanour towards these books was what she learned from them. After the comprehensive spellbook – Snape couldn't believe that there was such a dunderhead as to give that level of reading to a small child – the selections were more moderate, but still moved above the fourth-year level with the spellwork. She would need to catch up to that level in practical subjects like his own, and could use some more subject-centered theory, but she was better-read and better-practiced than any other first-year he'd known.

When she started on the questions, he raised his hand to silence the high-pitched enthusiasm. "That will do."

The girl faintly trembled in her seat to keep her mouth silent, but managed it. It was amusing to see her turn red to keep the words in her mouth.

"You are clearly well-read, and your wandless magic is undeniably impressive," Snape informed her. She beamed in pride at his words. He looked at her sternly to curb her glee but she only smiled in response. _What was wrong with this girl_? "However, your advanced learning will cause you a problem at the school, Miss Granger. You are far above the first-year level for spellcasting. It may take some time for you to adapt to a wand, but when you do there will be much of the school year that you will already have studied. The first year is almost exclusively theory-based, with very few subjects doing more than a few practical lessons a month. There are some bits that you could use – Potions, for example, will be new to you – but you will undoubtedly be more idle than not in your classes."

"Erm, Professor, that would be a problem," her parents said, looking at the dejected look of their daughter in a mild panic. "Would it be possible for her to work ahead? Or practice her spells during class? She sometimes has problems that, well, you know, she has a hard time stopping when she's bored."

Hermione got angry, something Severus wasn't expecting. She looked like a kitten got betrayed. "I'm old enough to control myself, mom. I haven't done anything since the last visit!"

These comments intrigued Severus. There was some dynamic here that should have been oppressive and fearful – a mother saying a daughter can't control a magic she herself doesn't have, a daughter untrusted by the parents to control herself – and yet, they seemed to do it fondly. The girl knew they said it because they loved her, and the mother wasn't afraid for her own safety but for her daughter. There was still some resentment in the daughter's tone, but she was still young; it was to be expected.

More than this happy family dynamic, accidental magic outbursts weren't that uncommon. The uncommon part was for it to happen when inactive, when there was no emotionally compromising situation. Unless …

"Miss Granger, you sometimes get upset during classes?" he queried, earning the girl's attention once again. She looked like she was going to object, so he gave her a stern look. "Do not lie, girl. You get frustrated, yes? With your teachers for not teaching you anything new, with your classmates for asking obvious questions or just not understanding something you find exceedingly simple … am I correct?"

The girl huffed and looked down to her feet, as if she'd ignore him, but then nodded.

"It doesn't always manifest in anger or upset – because who would be angry for something so unreasonable, correct? – but it _does_ become a built-up tension, correct?" Professor Snape probed, earning another nod from the girl. "When was the last incident?"

The girl seemed genuinely ashamed, and this time didn't even acknowledge his question. In fact, she went still; like in some kind of meditative state, she was clearly thinking about the incident, maybe reliving it through her guilt. She wasn't thinking about him or how to respond at all, a different response than he was used to.

This time her parents interjected. "It was two months ago, Professor."

He waved them off and focused on the girl who was refusing to meet his gaze. "What happened last time, Miss Granger?"

The little, frizzy girl refused to meet his eyes. "I won't do it at school, so it doesn't matter."

"Hermione," her mother warned.

Finally the girl's eyes lifted from her own lap and she looked at Severus. They stared at each other – Severus because he wouldn't show her weakness by looking away, and Hermione because she was testing the man for some sort of trustworthiness – before she'd obviously decided he was a kindred spirit and moved closer. Snape flinched away from her approach and glared at the offending girl.

"What are you doing?" he snarled.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "If I'm going to tell you, I have to whisper! Stay still!"

Whatever limits he had placed as a personal boundary were broken as the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, brought her chubby face to his ear, and whispered, "I made someone _invisible_!"

Intriguing. Severus looked at the girl who was trying to hard not to look pleased, especially with that little edge of vengefulness in her eyes that seemed so out of place. "And what did this person do?"

At this, Hermione looked shy. She hummed and hawed and took a moment to form the words, as if knowing it wasn't a good enough reason. "They were holding up class."

"You mean to tell me," Severus began slowly, putting it together, "that this person was a little … _slower_ in class?"

"They weren't understanding maths," Hermione murmured with a pout. "They kept asking obvious questions, and the teacher had already explained a million times …"

"Hermione knows she's a little faster at learning than her peers," her mother explained, casting her daughter a stern look. "But it doesn't mean the other kids aren't smart, right? Or that they don't deserve to learn at their own pace?"

"Yes, mum," the girl huffed. "But this time they were _really_ thick!"

Severus gave the girl a shrewd glance. This is what Minerva meant at the meeting those weeks ago. Like him, she seemed easily bored with the mundane people around her. Minerva was right of course - the girl was judgmental and quick, very much ahead of her peers - but he doubted the cat had seen the angry sense of justice in the girl's eyes. This Hermione Granger was more verbose and much more happy than he was as a child, but that spark of angry justice reminded him of himself. Nothing in the world was fair, and back in the day he'd been determined to change it all. His way had been selfish, searching for wealth and renown. The girl ….

"Let me guess," he remarked, drawing the girl's eyes, "you want to be a lawyer or a politician. Maybe a doctor, but you think it might be gross."

The girl gasped. "Can you read minds?"

That brought a chuckle to his lips, but he didn't release it. He might have smirked involuntarily at the girl, but his self-control was still very much present and he wouldn't allow this girl to undermine it with her entertainment value.

Entertaining was the perfect word for the small girl. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a burden after all, provided the church wasn't an abhorrent blemish on the face of the earth. Snape regarded the young lady with a new look. Smart, entitled, and a little bit spoiled. A bit like Draco, if he were being honest. They were about the same age, just as articulate. "Miss Granger, I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts. If you find my classes boring, I will gladly give you extra work to remedy the situation."

Most kids, Draco included, would have balked at the idea. Especially since Snape was saying it as menacingly as he could. This girl, however, looked up at him and started to smile.

"Do you promise?"

He quirked a brow. "You _want_ more work?"

"Yes, yes!" Hermione jumped excitedly. "I've asked for extra work for _ages_ , but I only get the maths teacher to agree, and he just gives me an extra page from the same chapter. I still finish it in class with time to spare. You'll really give me extra work? In potions? They're mentioned in the books, but I don't understand how they work. How do you get a potion you can _drink_ out of porcupine quills? They don't dissolve."

Severus cast a glance at her parents, who were now looking very amused. He gave a raised brow to them, and they gave him a smug smile in return. "You'll never get rid of her now."

He took that as a challenge and smirked wickedly at the tiny girl. "Miss Granger, extra work in my classroom involves more than brewing or writing papers. Usually its collecting and dissecting ingredients. Do you really want to milk a runespoor for venom? Or dissect a dung beetle? Because I can arrange that."

"Oh, runespoors are mentioned in the book!" Hermione gasped. "What are they? We looked them up, but couldn't find anything. They have venom, so are they snakes or spiders?"

Severus rolled his eyes. The girl was jumping around, taking the little bits of information and making grand leaps to prove how fast her brain could work. He had a feeling that there would be many instances in his future where he would need to rein in the little hellion to keep her from being dangerously wrong in her assumptions.

Regardless of those risks, the girl needed some sort of challenge if they didn't want to incite her accidental magic and he believed she needed further instruction if they were going to guide that sense of justice in her eyes into something positive. There was only one thing for it.

"Returning to the topic, if you are willing to do further work than in required of you, I believe your potential would be wasted in first-year classes," Severus decided, looking from the girl to her parents. "If your daughter swears to me she will not make me regret it, and that she will not engage in public physical displays of exuberance with me while in school – no hugs, Miss Granger, no _touching_ – I will make the inquiries about moving her forward a year or two, or even receiving some private instruction."

Seeing the girl's ecstatic expression, he sent her a withering look. "Do not take this lightly, Miss Granger. To move ahead of your peers before even attending Hogwarts may very well make your peers envious, and it may be harder for you to make friends. You will be placed with students older than you and more mature as well; as of yet I haven't decided whether they will find you an annoyance or a novelty. They may very well be hostile and unwelcoming.

 _"_ Besides the social stigma, _if_ I am to do this you must not fail to meet my exacting standards. You would be moving forward on a recommendation that I can revoke at any time and I will undoubtedly by made personally responsible for you. You will not cause any problems inside or outside of the classroom, you will participate in school events with your peers, and you will work hard in your studies. In Potions, my own subject, you will need tutoring in additional lessons until you are caught up. And if you fall even the slightest bit behind in your course of study I will make you regret ever asking for this placement."

Hermione couldn't contain herself. A teacher finally understood! Finally! She launched herself into the sour Professor's arms and hugged him vigorously. She jumped up and down, moving the teacher with her.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Release me!"

Both parents giggled at the pair of them. A warmth in their hearts told them, quite plainly, that this arrangement would turn out alright.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Someone reviewed and said it was a Snape/Hermione story. Nope. Not one of those. Sorry. I do have another story that's Snape/Hermione, but it's rated M. No false advertisement here!**

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Chapter 5

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After instructing the Grangers to go return her school books – with a promise to the little bibliophile that he'd be procuring a new booklist for her library – the Potions Master made his way back to Hogwarts and up to the Headmaster's tower.

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted happily, "welcome, welcome. I would offer you a seat, but I doubt you would take it."

Professor Snape gave him a slight nod at his inference, earning an extra twinkle from the insufferable man. Instead of commenting, Severus took up a position against the only spare wall – the one by the fireplace – and got straight to business.

"I've come regarding Miss Granger."

Dumbledore observed him with a determining gaze, something most people would say was all-knowing.

Snape knew better, but only because he was an exception. Dumbledore had an involuntary talent for surface-level Legillimency that he never turned off unless it was a danger. Severus had no reason to fear because of his _talents_ , but the look was still unnerving.

"You do not seem any angrier," Dumbledore observed teasingly. "Your meeting with the girl went well, I presume?"

"She will be a Gryffindor," Severus snorted. "A more insufferable, righteous girl I've never encountered."

That made the old man chuckle. Snape continued, "She requires … _special_ placement. I recommend putting her with the third years with some additional tutoring twice a week for the first term to address any gaps in her knowledge."

" _You_ recommend?" Dumbledore quirked a brow at the dour man. "She must be quite exceptional to earn your commendation, indeed. Why don't you tell me about the girl?"

He rolled his eyes. "Insufferable, as I said. The girl seems incapable of being patient and likes thinking of herself as smarter than her peers. That being said she is advanced, and it seems her past accidental magic was directly linked to her being unchallenged and bored in the classroom setting as well as others. The worker who was assigned to Granger gave her magical texts to keep her from mischief."

"Other families give their children tutoring in this regard," Dumbledore reminded him. "No wands, of course, but they are more well-versed in the spells themselves than others and you still deny them any advancement."

"Miss Granger can do wandless magic."

That made the older man pause, if only for a moment. "All children are capable of such, I believe, in the right circumstances-"

"She summoned my scotch from the bar of the Leaky," Snape interjected cuttingly. "According to her parents, she has been working through three textbooks worth of spells and succeeding. With how she's developed magically and the spells she's told me she can accomplish, the only gaps in her magical education have been potions, history, and a wand. Two of which we can easily fix and get her caught up in regards to her peers, and the other only requires additional time to practice."

"And you're willing to do this for the girl?" Albus inquired. "The year the Philosopher's Stone and Harry Potter come to Hogwarts?"

At the mention of Potter, his teeth ground together in frustration. But he knew Dumbledore was only doing this to distract from the topic. "Who said I would be required to assist in her additional studies in my subject? I suggested seventh year tutors for the girl."

"And they would still be required to do so in your classroom," Dumbledore pointed out. "You would need to supervise, at the very least."

That wasn't happening. Severus thought of one extra child in his classroom out of hours was a nightmare; making his classroom a meeting room for two or more students, all the sort of loathsome students and horrible mistakes, seemed even less appealing. As did spending his time listening to tedious repetitions of class materials. Albus would know this and would be expecting him to quickly remove his recommendation from the girl. The few times this had happened in the past, usually after a year or so in Hogwarts, Severus had refused to move the child forward based on the additional practice that would be required in Potions. They were always recommended because they were Charms prodigies, Transfiguration buffs … those students usually were mediocre or untalented in other subjects like his own, and he'd denied their advancement in his class because of it. Potions was a necessary course, and he would not have them skipping out.

Those children were odious, annoying, and lazy. Many he wouldn't give the time of day. Some, like his Slytherins, were tolerable and even bright. He wouldn't mind providing them the additional support if they were allowed to advance.

But Miss Granger seemed excited by his subject; it was, after all, new knowledge to her. Children as curious as the girl also seemed to be the ones who thrived without the theory, preferring to practice it and experience all the things that textbooks could not describe or prepare them for. Potions would probably suit the girl. If it didn't … At the very least, the girl wasn't scared of him.

A sneer made an appearance on his face and he nearly growled at the headmaster, "I _suppose_ she will catch up far more readily if I were to teach her myself. Since she is already taking up a great deal of my Sundays, she can simply spend the day while I brew."

Albus' eyes shot skyward. " _You_ would tutor the girl?"

"Are you going deaf, Albus?" Snape snapped. "I will take care of the girl's potions education. I trust the rest can be accomplished smoothly enough?"

Albus waved his wand and summoned a large and multi-coloured parchment with each teachers' schedule on it to his desk. It spread itself so he could see it all laid out before him. The colours shimmered before his view, showing him the information he needed.

"Third years …. As we do not know the girl's house as of yet, we will need to put her in a mixture of classes," Dumbleore murmured, looking over the schedule. "For the best, perhaps. We certainly can't organize this on the day of the Sorting. Let's see ... Only the Hufflepuff/Slytherin class has seats in History of Magic …. Transfiguration with Ravenclaw/Slytherin …. Divination all the classes are full so if she-"

Snape snorted. "I will not endorse a girl who'd waste the advancement on Divination, Albus. She will not be part of Divination, Muggle Studies, or Care of Magical Creatures. She will take the mandatory courses as well as Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

The Headmaster quirked a brow at the Professor, who glared back as if daring the Headmaster to question him. "We normally allow the students to select their own electives."

"Ollivander says her wand is not suited for Divination," Severus started listing them off, "she is Muggleborn and does not required Muggle Studies, and she will learn of Magical Creatures from her studies in Defence, Herbology, and Potions. That leaves only the two other electives which are extremely useful. I would recommend those two courses to any of my Slytherins. If she wishes, however, she may drop them as is her prerogative. Does that appease you, Albus?"

"It does make things easier," the Headmaster allowed, looking back to the schedule. Finally, taking out a sheet of parchment, he began to pen a mixed schedule for their new student. "Those electives will be with all four houses either way so it's a matter of scheduling around them … Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions … yes, there you are …. Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Astronomy ….. Charms with Ravenclaw/Slytherin … good, good, that will go there …"

Severus just let the old man work a schedule for the girl and contemplated just how he would catch the girl up in his subject. Would she even accept to work with him on her Sundays? Would her religion allow it? Regardless, he would need to spend time around the little ingénue. If she were to brew it would need his direct supervision and while he could spend the time marking essays, it would not be the most efficient way to get her caught up. More direct involvement would be necessary.

Perhaps … she could assist with marking the first-year and second-year essays so she could see the material and learn the mistakes. That would help him somewhat and the girl would get more well-versed than most students on the various essays he assigned. He'd have to make sure to assign them well enough to be comprehensive for the girl. And if he didn't have essays, perhaps she could help with ingredient preparation for classes, maybe even his own personal brews if she became decent enough at the task. She could brew while he did as well; he was well-accustomed to monitoring multiple cauldrons and would easily keep up with one brew of his own and one simple brew for the girl.

Plan in mind, he looked back over to Dumbledore. He seemed distinctly discontent with the schedule in his hand and was crossing out a course and replacing it with another.

"The girl will be moved to third-year after being sorted?" Severus drawled.

Albus nodded, looking down at the sheet. "I'll bring it up at the next staff meeting. We'll need to ask one of the upper-years to tutor her, and we'll need to keep a close eye on the girl – at least for the first little while – to make sure she's living up to expectations."

"I will bear full responsibility for finding her a seventh-year to assist. And if she is not performing, she will be seen to by _myself_."

"You'll use those school owls to write to us?" her mother fussed. "And if anything happens, you'll talk to your prefects or Professor Snape?"

"Mom," Hermione huffed, "I said I would."

Dan Granger laughed at his daughter's put-out look. She kept glancing around at the other kids who were boarding the train, like they would judge her. His daughter pretended, and quite well, that she was fine with being different, that she was proud of it, but she would never admit the truth that she wanted friends. Despite that, she could never hide that from them.

"Now, sweetheart, you wouldn't deny ol' mum and dad the chance to embarrass you one last time, would you?" he teased. "Come on, let's show them how much I love my daughter."

Hermione tried to step back, but her dad had scooped her up in his arms and hoisted her high, twirling her around. She laughed. "Dad!"

He lifted her tiny body high and then plopped her back on the ground, huffing with the effort. "Goodness, my little girl just keeps growing up. You might be too big to lift when you get back for Christmas!"

Hermione laughed, but the sadness of leaving them settled back over the endorphins of their play, and Hermione threw herself into her parent's arms. "I love you."

"We love you too, no matter what," her mom squeezed her poignantly. "Now, you better go get your luggage into a compartment before the train starts moving. And don't just pick an empty compartment, you have to meet your new classmates."

"You just want me to make friends," Hermione huffed. "I told you, no one wants to be friends with a know-it-all."

"Some will," her mother encouraged before her father interjected once again. "But you will never find them if you don't look, will you? You have to try to make friends. Promise us."

She crossed her arms with a huff, nearly glaring at her mother. For such a small child, she had a lot of anger in her tiny body.

"And remember what the professor told you," her mother said in a worried whisper. "No wandless magic in front of your classmates, okay? I know you might forget every once and a while, but I don't want you showing off and making them feel badly, alright?"

Now _that_ was something Hermione understood. Every year before school her parents not only gave her a priesthood blessing, but always told her to be modest and patient. Patient with her classmates, modest in herself. She could be proud of herself, she could want what she wanted, but she wasn't supposed to do things simply for recognition. Things done in private were supposed to be more meaningful, and Hermione did remember that lesson on the widow's mite, but …. What do you talk about if not the exciting things you did and read? The things you managed to accomplish? Hermione didn't understand and she didn't really want to.

Still, she nodded with a sigh at her mother. She'd finished her last library book yesterday and hadn't started re-reading her school books. She knew if she started, she'd become too immersed to even want to interact with people and she would fight the urge for her mum … at least not in the first hour of the train ride. She'd hold off and explore the magical train, maybe finding someone along the way to bring with her.

The warning whistle blew and the parents began pulling away from their children. Her parents each gave her one more kiss on the forehead before letting her go and run for the train.

"Write to us!" the called. "Don't forget to say your prayers!"

Hermione gave her parents one more wave goodbye before she lugged her magical leather luggage and kitsune cage onto the train.

Because of her parents' goodbyes, she was one of the last ones on the train. Every compartment had people in it that she didn't know and girls that looked just so … pretty, it made Hermione feel strange about approaching them. But she was getting tired with her luggage, and so when she found a compartment with no girls and only three boys she breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door.

"Erm, hi!" Hermione said with a pressed smile. The two gingers and one black boy looked up at her with curious looks. "I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Well, ickle firstie, can you keep secrets?" The left ginger asked.

The second added, "Because we can't have snitches here."

Hermione gave them a confused look. "We can all keep secrets, can't we? We're wizards, we have to."

All three got looks of recognition on their faces. The black boy got up first. "Oh, you're a muggleborn! Yeah, come on in. Hey, I'm Lee. These monkeys are Fred and George. Here, let me put your case up."

The nice one, she decided, although she was still hesitant whenever someone called her a muggleborn. Her mother had spoken to her about her schooling and setting goals in case she didn't want to be in the Wizarding World after her time at Hogwarts, and it didn't take much to figure out why her mother insisted on her studying for her GSCEs. Even these nice boys had identified her as that term, the same one Ms. Wright had used in her pet store.

"You want to put your cat up here too?" the boy asked.

Hermione bit her lip. "Is it a long train ride?"

The twins and him nodded. "All day. You might want to let it out."

"It's fine with us."

"It's not vicious is, it?"

Hermione gave them a shy smile. "No, not really. But he's not really a cat. Well, unless he wants to be. The Professor said familiars were welcome, and well…" She set the carrier on a seat and opened the carrier. Daedalus must have hated the cage a lot to jump out and into her arms so quickly, but she caught him easily. It was practice. She turned to the boys and showed them. "This is my kitsune familiar, Daedalus."

The boys gaped. "Wicked!"

"Cool!"

"Can it really change animal shapes?"

"I thought they were bigger."

Daedalus loved all the attention, while Hermione was just relieved. Her little kitsune was the icebreaker she needed.

"Daedalus, can you show them your cat?" Hermione asked nicely. The kitsune preened and flashed into the beautiful cat she was familiar with. "Thank you."

They all looked really amazed, so Hermione guessed the kitsune was not a very common animal. Still, it was nice to be able to introduce her kitsune to other wizards.

"So ..." she hemmed when Daedalus turned back, "erm, which one of you is Fred, and which is George?"

Lee groaned and covered his eyes. "You're not supposed to ask them that."

The twins got a devious look on their face and leaned into her space, one on each side of her face.

"Before we tell _you_ -"

"Just which twin is which-"

"You have to tell us-"

"Who the cuter twin is."

Hermione blushed a beet red and yanked her head back from their sing-song encroachment. Still, she couldn't help but consider their question as they laughed at her reaction. The one on the left was the one with his arm on his brother's when he laughed, his brother supporting some of his weight. His smile was a little different too and seemed … brighter. And one of his freckles pulled up with the smile giving him a sweet appearance. The smile pulled up just a little closer to his eyes, making his seem so jovial. The other one was just as handsome because, well, they were _twins_ , but the one on the left seemed just a bit more … _free_.

Still blushing, she couldn't help but answer, pointing to the lefter brother, "Well, I guess, he is. To me."

Both brothers stopped laughing almost instantly and gave her a puzzled look.

"Well, no accounting for tastes," the one on the right said with a sniff. "How'd you like that Freddie? The firstie thinks you're prettier."

"But why does she think that is the question, Georgie," the left one said with a teasing smile in her direction. "She does know we're identical, right?"

Hermione stammered and blushed, looking down at the kitsune in her hands and petting it. "I don't know. I just … like your smile more."

At those words, Fred seemed to completely lose his common sense. He dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed one of her hands in his. "Of, fair maiden, will you marry me?"

Hermione laughed at the drama of it all. "Well, fair knight, most have to go on a daring quest to earn a lady's hand."

Fred seemed to like her response, but still went into overblown dramatics. "Oh, wo is me! I have schooling and cannot yet be going on any perilous journeys. Will the maiden fair understand if I must wait five years to finish honing my knightly skills for the journey?"

Hermione pursed her lips in faux-thought, although this whole display still had her blushing. "Well, I suppose. But a knight needs a favour."

Hermione took the hair tie from her wrist and waved her hand over it, turning it into a cute little button with a picture of the two twins on it, laughing like a moment ago. It was just as she pictured. She went to present it to him with the overblown flourish, but Fred wasn't looking so joking anymore.

"Erm, you don't like it?" Hermione stammered, a little awkward. It wouldn't do to withdraw her hand, but she also couldn't really keep holding it out when he wasn't taking it. "I-I can change it."

Fred immediately snapped out of it and acknowledged the gift, taking it and looking at it with intrigue.

"Umm, you know," George coughed, "you don't have your wand tucked up your sleeve, do ya?"

She shook her head.

"This is brilliant!" Fred squeeed and showed George. "Look at this! Wandless!"

Hermione blushed, but more from mortification than anything. Professor Snape had specifically warned her about this, and she'd forgotten in the heat of the moment. It wasn't even a high-pressure situation.

 _"Your booklist," he handed her a new sheet of parchment, this time with the third-year reading list. "You will need another trip to Diagon Alley. , Mrs. Granger, will you require me to escort your daughter or are you able to return there? Do you remember the pattern?"_

 _"I remember!" Hermone said proudly. "We can go again, right dad?"_

 _"We'll find time to visit again," her mother promised._

 _Professor Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement. "The second page is a permission slip to Hogsmeade village. There is a wizarding town next to the school where your daughter might go to buy anything that needs replacing, or if she is like most students, act like a child and cause a headache for the locals." That earned her a fixed glare. "Students third-year and up have monthly Saturday visits if they so choose. However, feel free to refuse her permission. It is by no means necessary."_

 _Then he fixed his eyes on her. "One more thing … show no one your talents. Your classmates, your tutor, even the Head Girl and Boy should be kept as much in the dark to your wandless abilities as possible. There may be … consequences."_

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes wide with panic. "You can't tell anyone! I promised not to show people! The Professor will be so disappointed with me!"

"Woah, breathe," Lee raised his hands. "Of course we won't tell. That doesn't mean it's not bloody wicked."

Hermione cringed at the swear, but still relaxed. At least her Professor wouldn't be upset. "Thanks. I just forgot, I really didn't mean to forget. Professor Snape said it wasn't a good idea to tell."

That brought on a whole new round of questions. The boys seemed to have forgotten their planning session in favour of questioning her relationship with the Professor. She told them about how he was going to be taking her to church on Sundays.

"He's really nice when he's not angry," Hermione said at one point.

Fred and George did a simultaneous snort. "If you're not a Gryffindor."

"Here, here!" Lee affirmed.

"Why Gryffindor?"

That was how she learned about the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry and the fact that Severus Snape was the Head of House for Slytherin. She didn't believe them when they told her about his favouritism in Potions class, but the way they talked about him made her uncomfortable. He really was someone she liked.

So when she got the chance, she said the next nice thing she could think of. Which turned out to be the sorting. Although fairly useless.

"Sorry, can't tell you," Fred and George said immediately, but Fred had an apologetic smile. "It's a Hogwarts secret."

"Yeah," Lee interjected. "You can try to talk about the Sorting, but you can't with anyone who doesn't already know. Some sort of spell, I'd wager. I guess it's to make the thing unbiased."

"Oh, come on," she huffed.

"We told our brother he had to fight a troll," George grinned. "He's going to be right relieved when we get there."

Her annoyance burst and Hermione giggled before she could shake off the feeling. It gave the twins a smug smile that made her pout at them.

"Well, I wonder-"

At that moment, a flustered young boy of her age opened the compartment door with a face that was a lovely shade of rose and apologized for bothering them.

"S-sorry, but have you seen my t-toad, Trevor?" he stuttered.

It wasn't a bad stutter, but Hermione frowned. Her dad had talked to her once about a student in her class that she'd been annoyed at for slowing the class down for speaking with a stutter. She'd felt horribly for it once her dad sat down and taught her about the studies into stutters and how it was developed. She even researched it some after that. Some of it was genetic, but other times it could be caused by trauma or illness. She was concerned already for the boy.

"I'm sorry, mate, but no toads here," Lee told him.

The boy nodded and looked to his shoes. "Thanks. Sor-r-ry again."

When the boy went to leave, Hermione jumped up and stopped him.

"Do you need help?" Hermione asked. "I could look too."

That made his hazel eyes come off his shoes and turn to her. "Really?"

"We'll help as well, mate," the twins said, getting up. "Lee, hold the compartment?"

"Sure thing."

The group left the compartment to begin the search and Hermione turned to the boy.

"What's your name?"

"N-Neville," he replied. "N-Neville Longbottom."

"Oh, Neville!" Fred and George immediately threw their arms around the young boy. "Hey, you used to come over all the time when you were all itsby bitsy. Hardly recognized you! You used to play with Ron and Gin in the backyard, terrorizing the gnomes and sneaking Bill and Charlie's brooms. Remember that?"

Hermione felt a pit form up in her stomach at their cheerful acceptance of Neville. She didn't begrudge him, per se, she just felt awful that she'd felt so accepted when it was clear the twins were the same with anyone new. Well, she couldn't have expected the first people she met would be her friends. She forced a smile to her face.

"We should split up," Hermione said as reasonably as she could. "Where else have you checked?"

"Umm, I-I am in that c-compartment," he pointed a few doors down. "I haven't check-k-ked many, just these four here."

"Alright, Georgie and I will take that way, you two go that way?" Fred divided them easily. "You can each pick a side and don't forget to check the hallway. Wouldn't want to step on him."

It was said like a joke, but Neville looked stricken at the thought. Hermione quickly grabbed his upper arm and led him down the hallway while waving good luck to the twins in their search. They knocked on various compartments, one at a time on either side, just asking if they'd seen the toad.

Hermione had just closed the door on a fifth-year compartment when she heard Neville stammering in the one down from where she was. She sighed in her head, hoping that her coming would give him some confidence, but was shocked to hear what was causing it.

"Talk much, Longbottom?" a voice sneered from the compartment. "Go away, you're hurting our ears."

"You really do give us purebloods a bad name."

Hermione felt the waves of anger flood over her. How dare they!

"Neville, why don't you leave these jerks alone," Hermione came up next to him and levelled a steely glare in the compartment. "I'll check this one."

"Th-thanks Hermione," Neville squeaked out before bolting from in front of the door.

Now it was Hermione's turn. Her hands were on her hips and her body tense and grounded as she glared at the compartment occupants. All well-dressed, handsome little kids about her age. The most annoying looking was the blonde one who seemed to live with a smug little smile on his face.

"That was very mean," Hermione chastised them. "He's just looking for his toad, you didn't need to be bullies."

One of the prim little girls looked her up and down before turning her nose away. "You wouldn't know anything about this. You're not even properly magical."

"' _Properly magical_?'" Hermione quoted in disbelief. Her blood was boiling and she didn't even notice the little white sparks going down her voluminous curls. "I got my Hogwarts letter, same as any of you. We would be the same if I were a nitwit and bully. Luckily for you, I'm not, or you would all be punished for being mean to Neville."

"Oh, really?" the blonde smirked. "You really are a muggleborn. Do you know who our parents are?"

"No, and it doesn't matter," Hermione hissed. "You should still apologize to Neville. It's not his fault he had a stutter, but it's your fault for being mean to him for it."

His smirk changed to a look of disgust. " _Me_ , apologize to _Longbottom_? I'd rather eat a dungbomb."

She glared at the boy. "What's your name?"

He quirked a brow haughtily. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she replied equally as pretentious. "If you won't apologize I'm going to have to tell the Professor. He hates kids who are rude."

"Oh, you know a Professor?" Malfoy sneered. "Which one? The halfbreed in Charms?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm going to tell Professor Snape."

Malfoy took one second to process and then promptly started laughing. Hermione was shocked when the rest of the compartment started laughing too.

"What's so funny?" she fumed.

Malfoy wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Nothing, Granger, just your stupid face. You know what, why don't you tell Professor Snape once we get to school. I'm sure he'd love to hear it."

"I will," Hermione bit. They were making fun of the Professor and that was not any more okay with her when the twins did it than now. The compartment had raised brows at her sparking hair. "Now, I'm going to leave. But before I do, I'm going to ask nicely if any of you have seen Neville's toad."

Malfoy waved her off. "Who cares? Proper wizards have owls. He should be glad it's gone."

"I imagine it will help his appearance," a girl said. "He'll avoid slime on his clothes."

Another girl giggled. "Maybe he familiar-bonded with a toad. Can you imagine?"

Malfoy smirked. "That'd suit a squib like him. I bet the toad's more magical than he is."

"SHUT UP!" Hermione screeched. "You stuck-up, mean, BULLY! Neville is upset, and you say it doesn't matter? Who taught you to behave, a psycho?!"

Malfoy looked absolutely livid and rose from his seat to draw his wand. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His eyes went wide and his face gaunt when he realized that no matter how red in the face his curses made him, he was completely silent.

The others in the compartment had seen the sparks in the girls' hair and had gaped when she had – intentionally or not – used accidental magic as an eleven-year-old. The cores were supposed to settle when they got this old.

Hermione, though, was wide-eyed. She hadn't meant to, but she was just so angry.

"What's going on here?" an orotund voice asked behind them all. Hermione turned around in terror to see a ginger, much like the two brothers she had met earlier, staring down the compartment. HE inspected the occupants of the compartment with a sharp eye and said, "Well?"

Draco made a rude gesture at the older boy, but the words trying to come out never made it. The girls looked vaguely uncomfortable, but the other boy next to Malfoy seemed more composed.

"Miss Granger here was looking for a lost toad, Weasley," he explained casually. "She must have been very distressed, because next thing we know Draco here lost his voice. Some sort of accidental magic?"

"That's not true!" Hermione held up her hand plaintively. "I swear! I mean, it was an accident, but-"

"That's enough," the boy struck her down ruthlessly. "Accidental or not, Miss Granger, I will be taking both you and … Mr. Malfoy to Professor Babbling. You are not off to a good start, you know; an incident on the train before you even get to school, honestly. Come along."

Already in trouble?! Hermione anxiously followed the boy with a badge and thought about all the things that could happen from this. Snape had told her to stay out of trouble, avoid using her magic wandlessly around the students, keep her nose clean. Already she'd failed in all of those things. There was a sad pit in her stomach at the thought of the Professor being disappointed in her, or worse, putting her back in first-year.

Neville saw her exit the compartment with the two boy and gave her a panicked stare. There was nothing she could do to reassure the boy but give him a sad smile. It was kind of forced, her smile, but it was better than nothing.

Hermione felt guilty about taking Malfoy's voice, and she had been taught to apologize whenever she felt that way. Still, it didn't make the task any easier.

She turned to the blonde boy and huffed, under her breath, "I really am sorry about your voice. But maybe now you won't be so _rude._ "

The boy glared at her, promising death and retribution, but the ginger teenager addressed them.

"You're not in your robes, but I'm assuming you're both first-years?" the boy asked as they walked.

Malfoy silently fumed at being unable to respond, but she responded. "Actually, I'm technically a third-year."

"Really?" Percy quirked a brow at her over his shoulder. "Which house?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, I actually haven't been sorted. This is my _first_ year, but the Professors moved me to third."

" _Oi, Perce!"_

Two ginger pranksters emerged from the woodwork and surrounded their leader, giving her an assuring wink. She relaxed a little bit at their arrival, although their brother didn't look too thrilled.

"I'm busy, you two," the badge-wearer tried to shrug them off. "Unlike you, I need to maintain some semblance of order."

"Aww, what did our new friend do to Malfoy?" Fred gave her a wink.

George jumped right in. "Did she turn his hair white?"

Fred gave the fuming Malfoy a mockingly discerning look. "I think that's his normal colour, Georgie."

"You know these two clowns?" Percy grit out over his shoulder.

Hermione nodded nervously. "They let me sit with them. Are they your brothers? They're nice."

"See? She thinks we're nice!"

"Totally friend material."

"So, what's up Perce?"

"Going to let her off the hook?"

Both twins turned and gave devastating puppy-dog eyes to their older brother, each making pitiful whimpers for all to hear. If Hermione's heart wasn't in her throat, she would have giggled.

Percy crossed his arms but did stop to address his brothers. "I'm a prefect. I don't give free passes."

"Yeah, but you can give warnings, right?" George pointed out pleadingly. "It's her first experience of Hogwarts, Percy."

"Yeah!" Fred exclaimed. "Free the firsties movement! It has a great ring."

"Besides," George's gaze slid over to the blonde, "it probably was deserved."

"Was it, my lady?"

Hermione bit her lip but nodded. "He was bullying Neville. And he and his friends said … said I wasn't ' _properly magical_ '. I just got so mad!"

Fred and George withheld their guffaws in front of their brother, but one gave her a secret thumbs up and the other grinned. Malfoy was now gesticulating wildly, trying to speak or mime his words, but nothing came out. Just his face turning red and his hair standing out even more at the comparison. Percy pursed his lips grimly, but nodded.

"Miss Granger, if you disobey the school rules again it will be at school, where I can take points," he pointed out. "Do you understand me? This is your only warning."

Hermione nodded her head furiously. "Yes, sir."

He gave her a swift nod in return before motioning to Malfoy. "Come along. We'll see if Professor Babbling can reverse that spell on you."

It wasn't until the twins had pulled her back to the compartment that she breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"At your service," they bowed. "We are the best in our field."

"Besides, Perce isn't bad," George interjected, "just a stick in the mud."

Hermione giggled. Lee gave the twins a look. "Umm, did you find the frog?"

"Neville!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

The group searched for another thirty minutes – and spent fifteen minute on top of that listening to Neville try to apologize for getting Hermione in trouble – before the twins seemingly from nowhere told Hermione that they were allowed to do magic on the train. After a stern word to the twins for keeping that from her and for not even thinking of using magic, and then one Point Me spell from her wand, Trevor was located in the bathroom. He was curled up behind the leaky sink and letting little drops of water splash on his toady head.

Having helped the first-year, they let him return to his compartment and returned to their own to spend the rest of the time playing – in Hermione's case _learning_ – Exploding Snap, and then Hermione giving up in favour of reviewing her Third Year Charms textbook.

Which earned her a strange look from the twins.

"You know, we thought you were joking when you told Perce you're a third year," Fred commented, eyeing the book.

"Nope," Hermione shot them a happy, happy smile. "They're letting me skip ahead! I'm so excited! Professor Snape said I'll need a tutor and be behind in Potions, but he's letting me spend Sunday evening brewing with him. He even said he'd find me a tutor for the rest of my classes!"

George and Fred looked at each other with a look then a nod before turning to her. "If you're in our classes,"

"-you can sit by us."

"Hey!" Lee ejaculated. "What about me?"

They gave him a look of grinning amusement. "Would you deny us the chance to corrupt the ickle firstie?"

"I-I woudn't want to bother you, Lee," Hermione said uncomfortably. "But, I mean, since I haven't been sorted, the Professor said only some of my classes will be with Gryffindor. Is-I mean-Would it be okay if I sit with you guys for the first little bit in those ones, while I get used to everything?"

Fred motioned to her dramatically. "See that, Lee? Would you say no to that? Really?"

Lee sighed dramatically. "Fine, but if we're in the couples' rooms, one of you sits with her and the other sits with me."

Both twins cheered, but Hermione looked at Lee in confusion.

"Couples' rooms," Lee explained. "Rooms with two people per desk. One of us always feels like the third wheel, like with a couple and a friend. Usually it's those bozos and I pair with someone from the Quidditch team. Mostly Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense, though Defense sometimes changes up."

Hermione tilted her head. "What about the other classes?"

Before long, the boys had her go change into her uniform and robes while they changed in the compartment. It was only the second time she'd worn them – the first was in Madame Maulkins – but now it felt like there was a small, low-level tingle surrounding her. Like they were waiting for some sort of catalyst.

When they arrived at the station, Fred and George pulled her through the crowd and to another red-headed boy that seemed to be her age.

"Ronnie-kins!" They called out, making the boy – Ron, she corrected herself – turn around and glare at them. George patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry mate-"

"But had to get your attention."

"Can you look after our friend for us? She's muggleborn, see."

"Thanks!" They called, abandoning the pair of them. "See you in school, little spitfire!"

Both kids looked away from each other awkwardly. Introduced by the twins, introduced by the brother, it was a little embarrassing for any eleven-year-old. Advanced or not. Luckily, a little boy with black hair didn't know that and introduced himself.

"Erm, hi," he said. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced automatically, then flushed at how prim and proper she felt. "So, we don't go to the school with the other kids?"

Ron got involved them. "No, we go across the Black Lake! We may even see the giant squid!"

"Firs'-years! Firs' years over here!" A giant man with a lantern called them all in a big booming voice.

The black-haired boy jumped. "Hagrid!"

Hermione followed the two boys up to the massive, hairy man and followed after the group of first-years, but her head was spinning. Giant Squid?

(Edited from Page 118 of TPS)

"All righ' there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hair face smiled at the boy over the crowd of first years before returning to everyone.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling , they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It so dark on either side of them that Hermione jumped in fear whenever a shadow moved among the trees, or the wind blew the branches around. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who had lost his toad, sniffed once or twice and Hermione drew him over to make sure he was okay. She was happy she earned a grateful, relieved smile in return.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud 'Ooooh!'.

The narrow path had opened suddenly on the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

Beautiful. Splendid. Resplendent. _Magical_. Hemione wanted to savour the view, but Hagrid wasn't having it.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hermione and Neville climbed into a boar with Harry and Ron, although Hermione took a moment longer for worry that the boat would tip.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had an entire boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, glidding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads an the little boats carried through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff.

They didn't really need to duck, but Hagrid did and most student felt like they might get caught up by the ivy if they didn't. They were carried along a dark tunnel which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out on the rocks and pebbles.

Then they followed Hagrid up a passageway in the rock, following the big giant's lamp, coming out at last on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak from door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Then Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber and whispers floated up around her. Hermione felt like glaring at all of them for not obeying the Professor. She'd said to wait 'quietly'.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked Ron in front of her, earning her attention.

"Some sort of test, I think."

Hermione's heart stopped. A test? In front of the whole school? What if she failed? Would she still be sorted? She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified too. Harry's eyes met hers and they shared a moment of awful panic. She'd never been more nervous, and kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to either her doom or her salvation.

Then something happened that made Hermione give out a small shriek.

"What the –?"

She gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years. Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them.

"About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me."

Hermione took a deep calming breath. This was it. She needed to prove herself, needed to be sorted right. She didn't know how they sorted, but she needed to make sure Professor Snape didn't regret taking her on. With jittery legs she followed as Professor McGonagall led them back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Hermione had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.

Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Hermione saw Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars and whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."\

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. Her heart warmed and her spirit lifted just to see it. The tension she'd felt upon hearing it might be a test faded and instead she gave a small, happy smile. It felt like heaven.

She walked right past the twins who both gave her massive grins. She shyly looked away, and upon skimming the hall her eyes landed on Professor Snape who sat right at the front. He wasn't looking at her, but having him there strangely heartened her just as much as the encouraging smiles of the twins.

Her group stopped and Professor McGonagall went ot stand next to a small four-legged stool with one old, brown wizarding hat resting on top. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Was she going to transfigure it? She was the Transfiguration Professor, after all.

For a few seconds there was silence, everyone in the Hall staring at the hat just as she was. Then, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in _Gryffindor_ ,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in _Hufflepuff_ ,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old _Ravenclaw_ ,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in _Slytherin_  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

All around her the existing students gave the hat thunderous applause while Hermione stood stock still in a new sense of anxiety. What if the Hat wouldn't know where to put her and she ended up alone? Everyone had their virtues, but bravery, cunning, wit, loyal? She felt none of those things. Her strengths were being loud and being annoying, any of her classmates would tell. Would the hat would see her mind and think her a terrible person? It may be silly to care about the opinions of a hat, but she was a muggleborn; maybe he was a magical creature, with a little hat family and hat wife and had a life outside of being, well, a _hat_.

The hat bowed to each of the table and then went still on the stool. Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long rolled scroll, the kind that made Hermione itch to touch. Maybe she'd be in Ravenclaw. It seemed to be the bookworm House.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit in the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A horribly pink, nervous girl with pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right clapped and cheered as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hermione saw her robes change upon the Hat's pronouncement, switching from plain black to her house's yellow. _That's_ what the robes were waiting for. Hopefully that would get rid of the tingle.

So the sorting continued.

The group was whittled away one by one, each person receiving a house at varying speeds. People like Neville took longer, making the room hold their breath. Some, like Malfoy, were Sorted before they'd even fully sat on the stool. Harry, the boy she'd met earlier, was apparently Harry Potter. She only knew what was in the History book her dad had picked up, but it was enough to know he important to wizarding culture. He went to Gryffindor.

It didn't go unnoticed by her that she'd been skipped alphabetically. Neville had seemed confused, but she knew what was going to happen. She was going to be a spectacle. And – in a strange way, one that made her feel ashamed – she was vaguely proud.

So she stood there as more and more students were sorted, getting even more excited as each student passed and even more curious what would happen with the Hat. Each student left the stool looking disconcerted, like something momentous had occurred during their Sorting. She wanted to find out.

Finally, McGonagall paused with only Hermione standing there. Dumbledore stood behind the staff table and raised his hand to the group.

"The Sorting Ceremony is nearly complete," his grandfatherly voice washed over the masses, seemingly amplified. "Our last student is not, however, a first-year. Because of her experience and the recommendations of our staff, Miss Hermione Granger will be joining the third-year class. I trust our older students will welcome her wherever she may be Sorted."

When he sat again, the murmuring was only interrupted by McGonagall.

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione didn't hesitate, and she definitely didn't want to be slow and even more of a show. She run-skipped to the stool and put the Hat on her head despite the nerves, and eagerly awaited her pronouncement.

' _Hmmm …'_ the hat was in her head, murmuring his thoughts. Hermione suddenly understood; the hat wasn't just reading them and placing them, it was talking to them. ' _Aren't you the independent one? Too independent for your own liking though; you want to have friends, belong somewhere, have someone to rely on. Being moved to third year is a dream for you, but you're afraid. Afraid of being alone in your accomplishment. Well, any house would provide you some measure of what you seek. Hufflepuff perhaps, for they would understand your desire for unity and love. Yet … too discerning for Hufflepuff. Your mind, thirsty for explanations, for knowledge, for … judgement. A good Ravenclaw trait, but the thirst doesn't come just from curiousity, oh, no. You want to be special.'_

Hermione shut her eyes, though that didn't help with the voice. It had found it, the thing that made her a bad person. She wanted people to 'ooh' and 'ahh' at her, wanted them to know without even meeting her who she was. Often she had fantasized about the Queen one day sending a carriage for her and bringing her to Buckingham Palace for some award, or Heavenly Father patting her head and telling her how good she'd been.

 _'Yes, quite a Slytherin trait,'_ the hat continued. _'So much of a need to prove yourself. To 'let your light so shine before men' as your head keeps throwing about. You admire a Slytherin as well, don't you? Professor Snape was one I remember quite well, you know. He desperately wanted to go to Gryffindor, but that was not an option for the boy. For you, though, you could be a Gryffindor. But you're afraid, afraid that the Professor will hate you for being one and afraid the Weasley twins will hate you if you're not.'_

Hermione nodded and whispered, lightly, "I don't want anyone to hate me."

' _A Hufflepuff sentiment, for sure. But while you're afraid, you are also determined to do your best wherever you go. A good Gryffindor trait, the best.'_

She became aware of the murmurings in the hall. Her head had been under the hat for a while now, and the students seemed to be speculating where she'd go after such a long time. She closed her eyes again.

' _Why are you taking so long?'_

' _Anyone could go anywhere in this school,'_ the Sorting Hat confided in her. ' _I have the impossible task of determining where they'll most likely succeed. You, however, are difficult to place because you will want to succeed wherever you go. Hufflepuff will cater to your kindness and teach you gentility, Ravenclaw would hone your mind and teach you wisdom, Gryffindor would welcome your honesty and fair heart but would teach you to act, and Slytherin would encourage your dreams and give you the tools to make them a reality. All things you could equally stand to learn.'_

As he explained, she thought about all of the things he mentioned. They all were lessons she'd been told to learn in the church, but that she just couldn't seem to do. She wanted to be more gentle, but she was loud and overly honest. She wanted to act more, but she sometimes remembered to be afraid of stepping on toes. Her dreams though … they were unrealistic and selfish, so she should refuse Slytherin House.

' _They could use you, though,' the Hat countered. 'The Professor's house, and so many things you could learn from Slytherin.'_

But she could learn anywhere, and that's what the hat had told her.

' _Well done,'_ the Sorting Hat said to that thought. ' _So you_ can _be decisive, not simply impulsive. Then so can I. Better be-'_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat said the last word aloud to the raucous applause of the Hall. She was so relieved to be done she took a moment to figure out the Weasley twins were standing up cheering and waving her over. She gave them an excited grin and ran over to them with red-trimmed robes flaring behind her. She wished she could give them a hug, but wasn't sure if it was welcome so instead sat in the seat they made for her.

"You're with us, now!"

"You're going to fit right in, Granger," George added.

The Headmaster had got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down and Hermione clapped and cheered with the raucous twins. She loved anyone so weird they didn't care about other peoples' opinions. It was fun to see people so free. Like Fred and George.

"Is he always like this?" Hermione inquired.

"Yeah, he's a right genius," he laughed. "A little mad too, but great!"

A sudden tingle of magic took over her body and she looked around, startled. The table seemed to grow food and empty spaces suddenly were filled with foods of all sorts – hams, roasts, fruit and vegetable dishes of all kinds – and Hermione gaped at it.

"I know, it's great, right?" Fred was scooping dishes left and right. "Hurry up, it disappears just as quick."

Hermione bolted into action and put two scoops of mashed potatoes on her plate and poured the gravy so quickly it spilled on the table before she noticed Fred and George were chortling.

"Sorry, but-"

"It doesn't disappear."

"We just like pulling one over."

That's the moment the Weasley twins discovered the infamous Hermione _look_ (which had only been previously used on close relatives). It was a look of womanly disapproval and resentment. Not anger, not yet, but they hadn't earned true anger. Still, the Weasley twins put their hands up.

"Don't shoot!"

That broke her. Hermione turned and giggled as she continued piling her plate. "You two aren't boring, I guess. But _you're_ wiping up that gravy."

She felt eyes on her, specific ones that didn't follow the rules of the masses that had looked at ger for being moved to third-year. Her eyes moved on their own and met with the Potions Master in question, black meeting amber eyes to convey her worry and his acceptance. She breathed a sigh of relief to see Professor Snape nod at her and then turn back to his plate.

She finished portioning the rest of her plate evenly. Hermione LOVED mashed potatoes far too much, so she made half of the rest of her plate brussel sprouts and the other half a slice of the roast, placing four Yorkshire puddings around her plate like a little bready crown. The twins laughed at her polite little plate organization and she made faces at how they mashed half of the foods together on their plate.

Then a spectral white form seemed to rise through the table. She could only watch as the room filled with ghosts of all kind, hovering and flying over the ghost closest to her decided to introduce himself with a tip of his head … literally. His head was attached by a thin piece of skin and so he pulled it off to a ninety degree angle and Hermione felt like screaming.

Above them all, the teachers ate and observed. Severus let himself enjoy the reactions from the new students – muggleborn and pureblood alike – when the ghosts popped in to introduce themselves. The children shrieked, giggled, hid – the full gambit – but he was watching for specific children.

Draco, his godson, turned completely pale at the appearance of the Baron, and Severus could tell he'd finished eating the feast before him. He had always been a delicate child, refusing to eat when upset to hide the fact that he vomited easily when upset. It had always caused Cissa unbearable stress. His turn, then, to handle the child. He would speak with him tonight.

Then his eyes shifted again to the muggleborn Miss Granger. It was not strange for children to seek his approval once they'd received his scorn in classes, but for their Sorting? Yet she had looked to him for comfort in being a Gryffindor. The fear in her eyes said it all; someone had told the girl of his disposition in his Gryffindor classes and wanted his silent promise that it would not be so with her. Severus had agreed.

Now she was sat with the Weasley twins, her eyes focused entirely on her plate of food as if she couldn't bear to look at the ghosts around her. Her eyes seemed to be glistening, even as the twins tried juggling her Yorshire puddings to cheer her up. What was the girl thinking?

He leaned over to Minerva, subtly, and prompted her to follow his gaze to her table.

"Oh, Nicholas," Minerva huffed. "I see her. If she is not well by tonight I will be addressing it."

"There's always one," he dropped a piece of pork loin into his mouth. A little chewy, but the elves knew how to do their flavours. "You have a couple of hat-stalls this year."

"Strange how they seem to nearly always go to Gryffindor," she gave him side-eye, but lessened it with a pursed look towards her table. "I wonder where the hat considered putting young Neville before he followed in his parents' footsteps."

"Hufflepuff," Snape sneered, earning a glare from the witch. "Did you see him shaking on the stool? That boy needs to be coddled."

McGonagall sniffed. "Well then, what of Miss Granger?"

His shoulders rolled into a shrug. "How should I know? I thought the girl would be a Gryffindor from the start."

"It was probably Ravenclaw," she ignored his smug tone. "She is a wonderfully clever girl."

Severus looked back over to the girl. Her fork was fending off Weasley fingers trying to get to her food, and she was at least smiling again now.

"We'll see."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

"First years! First years follow the prefects!"

Hermione looked around, confused. Did that include her? Did she need to follow the first-years, or stick with Fred and George?

"Don't worry, little lady," Fred leaned his arm on her shoulder.

"We'll take care of you."

"Really?" Hermione gave them a shy smile. "You'll show me the common room?"

Fred thumped his chest. "Of course!"

George frowned. "But we can't show you the girls' dorms."

"It's for the girls, after all-"

"It's charmed to not let us up."

"But we do know the girls you're rooming with."

"We should call them then, huh?" George chuckled. His call echoed through his cupped hands down the Gryffindor table. "Angel-iiiin-aaaa!"

Fred joined the call, this time for a different witch. "Ellie!"

Two girls down the table turned and glared at the twins. For a moment Hermione was sure they wouldn't come, but after they had said some words to the girls beside them they came and stood with crossed arms in front of the twins.

"What do you want?" the brunette – Hermione would come to know her as Angelina – growled at them. "And no, we're not trying any special 'lotions' you've made up."

George led the hands up in surrender by a moment, but Fred was that half-second behind. "Nothing like that, ladies."

"You see, our friend here-"

"Hermione Granger's the name-"

"Is new to third-year-"

"And needs a couple of lovely girls to-"

"Get her situated, see?"

They did simultaneous jazz hands in her direction, horrifyingly making her the focus of the two beautiful older girls. Angelina looked like all the girls who played football at her school – pretty, shiny straight hair, and fit. And her blonde friend was pretty too, with a set of dimples making her face all the cuter. Hermione nearly moved the whole frizzy head of hair she had in front of her face before she caught herself.

"Oh, your friend?" The blonde looked skeptical. She leaned over and met Hermione face to face, earning a sceptical look from the youngest third-year. "Don't be nervous. I don't know what the twins told you, but ignore all of it. They're jokesters, you know – don't take them seriously."

"Hey!"

"I resent that!"

Angelina shushed them and ducked down as well to shake Hermione's hand. "Don't listen to them. They're just silly."

Hermione felt her heart stab and pulled her hand away from the older girl, who seemed confused by her anger. "Don't say that."

Both girls froze. "What do you mean?"

"You're insulting them," her chin went up in the air. "They're not bad, they're nice. And they're helping me."

Angelina looked over to the twins with wide eyes, taking in their own shocked expression. "I-I didn't think of it like that. They just … tend to play pranks of people, that's all."

"But you told me not to listen to them," Hermione argued with vehemence. "My da-" She stopped herself. She probably shouldn't be quoting her parents at her age. "It's how bullies act, putting people down to make themselves seem better."

"Hey, hey, calm down," George came beside her and rapped her skull. "That's a little harsh. Angelina was just joking, eh?"

"We know she meant no harm by it, little spitfire," Fred wrapped an arm around her. "It's how friends joke about each other, you know."

Hermione flushed and tears came to her eyes. Everyone watched in horror as her eyes started to sparkle. "I-I'm sorry. That was wrong of me."

"You must have had friends before now," Angelina asked. When Hermione only shrugged, the girls locked eyes with each other and promptly pushed the twins away from her and wrapped her up between then. "Well, you have a bunch of Gryffindors here for you now. I'm Angelina Johnson, and this is Elowen Towneley. Just call her El or Ellie. Come on, let's show you the common room and introduce you to your other roommates."

Fred and George jumped up to join them, but the girls waggled their fingers at them. "Nuh-uh, Hermione's ours now. Tanny'll want a go at her tonight."

Fred and George groaned dramatically, falling into each other. "Alas, there's nothing we can do!

"We must leave you to the she-demons."

"Even we cannot surmount the might of the terrifying-"

"If not brilliant-"

"Tanwen Pyrites."

"Have mercy!"

The girls corralled her away from the twins while giggling at their little antics. Angelina winked at her incredulous expression. "They're just such … boys. Don't worry, Tanny is great. You'll come to need her like we all do."

"What does she do?" Hermione said worriedly. "I mean, what will she do to me?"

El giggled. "You seem so worried! Don't worry, she's nice. Just … if you don't hate people touching your hair, I'd let her do whatever she wants. She's kind of obsessed with that."

The girls engaged her in a very one-sided conversation, basically asking and answering their own questions about her and themselves. Hermione didn't mind though, because she was busy staring at everything around her. Suits of armor from a medieval time, portraits with witches and wizards waving hello ... the castle itself swirling magically round the students as they moved.

It was strange, feeling the magic and feeling so in awe while people were speaking around her. It was like she needed to be reverent in the face of it. Like the magic itself was somehow a spiritual experience. She'd never thought of it that way beyond it potentially being a gift from God, but the feeling coming from the castle was … awe-inspiring.

"Hello," Hermione whispered to the corridor, to the castle itself. Magic rushed and surged to meet her steps and her face beamed as she felt the castle's hello in return. "Did you feel that?"

The girls on either side of her blinked owlishly at her. Hermione took their hands and dragged them to the corridor wall and placed their hands on the stones. The castle's magic lifted to touch hers through the girls' hands. "Do you feel that? That castle is saying hello!"

Angelina and El gaped at their hands on the wall. "That's the castle?"

She nodded vigorously, her hair bushing up even more. "Say hello back!"

Both girls exchanged a look, but it was Angelina who spoke first. "Umm, hello Hogwarts. Good to be back."

The castle sent a small pulse and Angelina jumped. El did the same then, and similarly received the shocking. The students around them started to gather as well and place their hands on the walls, each greeting the castle or thanking it, even saying they were glad to be back. Soon the corridor was flooded with magic, ghosts, and all the Gryffindor students who had been heading up after the first-years. The chatter that had bothered Hermione at first had stopped for the most part in favour of an awed reverence at the feeling of magic the castle was giving them.

"This is amazing," El whispered at her. "You could feel this?"

Hermione shook her head. "It wasn't so strong before. The castle must like the students talking to it."

"It does, Miss Granger." The peace was broken when some of the girls shrieked at the sudden appearance of the Headmaster. The magic in the castle receded slightly and the reverence was lost at the appearance of the twinkling in Albus Dumbledore's face. "I see you've all been getting reacquainted with the castle after the long summer. It does appreciate it when the students acknowledge her, but you're causing quite the maelstrom of magic here. Perhaps you can get acquainted with Hogwarts individually?"

"Sorry Headmaster," the group around Hermione chorused disjointedly. Slowly, the group separated and moved towards the Gryffindor dorms. The magic they'd all felt gather around them had dissipated, but the feelings it had evoked remained. They all agreed it was a magical start of term.

Professor McGonagall had greeted them all in the common room and given them their introductions. The prefects for the top three upper years were introduced, and the girl named Hannah who was Head Girl. Hermione was sat with Angelina and El, with a few others around that she hadn't gotten to meet yet, but she didn't talk. She stayed quiet and paid attention to all the rules Professor McGonagall told them about curfews, passwords, and structure.

Finally, almost at the end, McGonagall unthinkably drew attention to her. "Now, you all heard Miss Granger's sorting, and the Headmaster's words?"

Heads bobbed.

"Then I trust you will be kind to our newest third-year," Professor McGonagall said. "Miss Granger, we will speak after. Now, there are a few things we need to discuss before it's time for bed. First, Welcome to Gryffindor House our new first years and Miss Granger. I told you in the Entrance Hall that your house is like your family, and it is the truth; I am the Head of the Family, and there are six prefects who are essentially the eldest children who are there to help you with anything you need. The Head Girl and Boy are here as well, and they are in charge of the prefects themselves. This year's Head Boy is a Gryffindor, Mr. Kenneth Limette. Mr. Limette, wave."

A kind-looking blonde boy stood and waved to the common room, and Hermione waved back despite the stares from the first-years. He didn't seem bothered and smiled at her, to which Hermione beamed.

McGonagall let the boy sit back down before continuing. "As Gryffindors, I expect a high standard of behaviour from you all. You are here to study and become decent wizards and witches and not hooligans. Yes, I see you three." The Weasley twins and Lee high-fived. "Friday at curfew there is a house meeting and it is mandatory for everyone not in the infirmary."

The students nodded under her stern gaze, making her nod in approval.

"Good. Now, we have a couple of familiars this year that have been approved, and I know I don't need to remind you but these animals are to be treated as family as well. If you see a rat, it is the Weasley family rat Scabbers and you should not try to stomp on it," a few kids laughed, "and do not panic if you see a jarvey, first years – that belongs to Mr. Lee. There is also a kitsune joining Gryffindor this year."

"A demon?!" One of the kids shrieked. "The fox with nine-tails!?"

"Yes, that," McGonagall had her lips pursed, which Hermione found reassuring. She really didn't want anything to happen to Daedalus. "Kitsune do not represent ill-omens and are not demons of any sort. They are simply magical creatures like your other pets except they can shape-shift. Unlike muggle lore, they do not turn into people nor do harm people. They are like any other pet here. This particular kitsune belongs to our young Miss Granger if you ever need return him to his witch."

McGonagall looked over to the grandfather clock between the staircases and nodded to herself. "That was all that we needed to discuss this evening, so I'll leave you to get reacquainted. First through third years, though, it is now time for your beds. Everyone else may remain in the Common Room yet another hour if you must, but breakfast tomorrow morning is mandatory as that is when you'll receive your new schedules. Off you go now."

Angelina and El lingered back by the stairs for her both giving her soft smiles as Hermione bounced up to her new Head of House with a happy smile for their talk. "Hello, ma'am. It's good to see you again."

The tartan-clad witch nodded primly. "You as well, Miss Granger. I'm sure you want to know my news?"

Hermione nodded eagerly.

"Professor Snape told me to pass along this," the Deputy Headmistress passed her a simple bracelet with one grey stone. "As he will be personally getting you up to date in your potions studies, he does not want you to wait in the hallways of the dungeons for him and says you may use this to enter the classroom when he is not there, ONLY if you have a previous meeting arranged or if it is an emergency and ONLY if you are responsible enough to only brew when he is present. Is that understood?"

She agreed quickly and had the older witch fasten the bracelet around her wrist. It wasn't girly by any means, but it was leathery and rustic-looking. Hermione felt elated just to have it.

"Another few things, Miss Granger;" McGonagall continued, "your tutoring session are to be every Tuesday and Thursday evenings immediately following dinner. I'm not aware of who it will be, but you are expected to be in the library at those time no matter what. Professor Snape will be there the first time to introduce you to your tutor."

When she nodded, the Professor continued. "Your kitsune will be treated like every other pet and the house-elves feed them all. But if your kitsune needs time outside the castle that is your responsibility. It's house-broken?"

Hermione nodded again. "I brought his litter box."

"Good," McGonagall nodded primly. "The house-elves will keep it clean for you as well. And our professor for Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Grubbly-Plank, would like to meet your familiar soon to check it over. Standard for any magical creature on the grounds. You'll find him on the ground floor, Room 1-12, outside of class hours."

Hermione just nodded.

Her the professor hesitated. "One final thing, Miss Granger; your religious services on Sunday? If you wish to go, it will be of your own volition. None of the staff will pressure you because of your parents."

"Pressure?" Hermione frowned at the Professor. "You mean, if I want to disobey my parents and not go...?"

"No one would force you," McGonagall told her mildly.

Hermione folded her arms. "I have to go. It would be wrong not to."

McGonagall simply nodded. "I expected so, but I had to ask. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Granger. My door is open if you have any difficulties."

Hermione skipped back to her new roommates and apologized for delaying them. They dismissed her apology and brought her up the stairs with them, showing them the divisions of the dorms and which held who. Third years were the farthest door on the right, with a little 'III' over the doorway.

Angelina walked in with her and greeted the girls there with an, "Eh, come meet our little genius!"

The other two girls were sat facing each other on adjacent beds and turned to look at them. Where El and Angelina were more normal-looking, these two girls were, er, more. One you could tell was trying really hard with a payoff for the effort – huge and high sleek red pony-tail, lip gloss, the whole shebang – but the other was just really, really pretty. The stereotypical blonde hair, blue eyed, heart-shaped girl.

She was expecting cold rejection – as much as she'd been fine at her old school, she also only had a group because she was allowed to show up and eat with them during breaks, she really could only expect the same from these girls – but was surprised when the blonde jumped up from the bed and crossed the distance between them in two jumping strides to immediately begin touching her hair.

"I'm Tanwen, or Tanny," the blonde introduced herself with her hands buried in her curls. "Oh, look at you! I was hoping you'd come to Gryffindor, we don't have anyone with really curly hair here. I love it!"

"Thanks?" Hermione felt awkward, a bit like a monkey being groomed.

The red-head popped over and hugged her. "I'm Alicia Spinnet."

Another girl appeared from a door on the side – bathroom probably – and joined the commotion. She was introduced as Katie. "Well, look at you! You're kind of cute, little girl. Look at those eyes! I'm jealous."

"Her eyes?" Angelina looked over her with El now, then seemed to realize what Anise meant. "Ooh, they're almost yellow! I didn't even notice!"

"It's called amber," Katie interjected.

"Her hair is the highlight," Tanny said from behind her. "And look at her skin too! Do you have some foreign blood in you? It looks a bit more than a tan."

Hermione nodded. "I-I'm mixed. My grandma was Spanish-Moroccan."

"Really? So exotic!" Tanny messed with her hair a little. "Have you ever had a perm?"

Hermione bit her lip. "It looked like an afro, and the other kids said I was trying to be black. Apparently I looked pathetic."

Angelina, the darkest girl, gave a derisive snort. "Don't worry about 'em. Anytime I did anything when I was little people thought I did it just to be a 'normal black person', whatever that means."

"But you really shouldn't have a perm that tight," Tanny diverted the attention quickly. "It should be looser, more like your normal hair. Just to tame it. Oh, I'm going to have to order a potion to do this."

"There are potions for hair?" Hermione said with wide eyes. "Really?"

A couple of the girls looked sceptical. "You didn't know that? But you were raised a witch, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm the first witch-"

"How are you in third-year, then?" Alicia demanded, arms crossed. "They said you had experience."

Hermione pulled away from the group then, done with the poking and prodding once one of the girls turned hostile. She wanted to withdraw, or argue. She did both. "The Professors thought I'd do better here. And I have been studying magic."

Tanwen blocked Alicia from Hermione's view and put her hand on her comfortably. "Hey, no offense meant. Alicia just had an older brother than wanted to skip before, but was never approved. We're just surprised it was possible."

Hermione anger left her. "I'm sorry. I just get so -"

"No worries," Tanny smiled. "We're older, so we should behave better. But that also means we take care of you, okay?"

"Okaaay," she said, confused.

Tanny grinned wider. "Including your hair! Tomorrow morning we'll get your hair all fixed up for your first day of school and no, I won't take no for an answer. I can't even imagine what this hair is like after a night's sleep."

Hermione blushed, but Tanny quickly reassured her. "Oh, don't worry. This is what roommates are for."

A couple of yips barked from the carrier by Hermione's bed, making the girls suddenly jump.

"Oh, Daedalus!"

Hermione hurried over to the carrier and let out the little nine-tail fox. HE jumped from the enclosure and up into her arms, licking her face all over and earning giggles from the little girl.

"You missed me, huh?" Hermione giggled and pet the fox. "I'm sorry, I had to get sorted. Don't worry, you'll be let out next time I'm gone."

Daedalus finished marking her all over with his tongue, he jumped from her arms and moved over to the girls in the room. Katie shrieked a little when her got close, making the fox realize something was wrong. He promptly shifted into his cat form and the girls gasped.

"He's …." Hermione cringed. "Adorable!"

The girls turned from gushing over her to gushing over her familiar, much to her relief. Tanny went and grabbed her cat from her carrier and introduced the two of them. Daedalus was incredulous of the little black cat at first – although the cat seemed indifferent – and the pair circled each other sniffing and pawing at the other. Finally, Daedalus returned to his foxy form and the cat was filled with glee as the kitsune let her chase his many tails.

"Does he have a basket?" Tanny asked kindly.

"He just sleeps with me," Hermione said hesitantly. "Is that okay?"

Angelina was back at her bed and grabbing clothes. "Why wouldn't it be? Tanny sleeps with her kitten."

The level of acceptance in the room warmed Hermione's heart. Maybe, once they got to know her, they wouldn't hate her.

Hermione was incorporated into their night routine. The girls who showered at night went to the showers, while her and Alicia went to the sinks and did their nightly face washes and teeth brushings. Alicia, despite being the one who was most visibly annoyed with her, was still kind. She didn't ignore the girl's panic at forgetting her tooth floss and taught her a simple spell to make her feel better, and she also helped her figure out how to use the oil lamp by her bedside so she could read when the elves extinguished the chandelier light. Hermione was especially grateful that she didn't comment when she pulled out her little red pencil crayon, 365 day reading schedule, and her scriptures to do her nightly scripture study before bed.

She checked her schedule twice and pulled her book open to the bookmarked page. Her parents had helped her make the schedule. They knew she couldn't just read a few verses a night, at least most days, and she would need to read more than that. Hermione was now in the final bits of the New Testament, a week away from the Book of Mormon.

She really enjoyed the Epistles of John. They were a comfort to her, and a sweet feeling always seemed to fill her whenever he wrote as if he were Heavenly Father, calling them 'little children'. She wished she could speak to Heavenly Father like she would talk to Dad. Dad always let her come into the study where they had their shelves of books and just talk to him. Counsel with him. It was like being in a place especially for being a small child.

Prayer, she knew, did something similar, but it just seemed so much harder.

She wouldn't think about that now.

For now, she was in 1 John 4. It was a beautiful piece about love, and how she was to love those around her. IT was a more spiritual version of her mother's admonishment that she should reach out to the kids around her. She marked verse 18 through 20 with her red pencil in as perfect lines as she could, vowing to – at least for tomorrow – greet every person she met with a smile. Her primary teacher often told her a smile was the way to make someone feel loved, and mom and dad certainly agreed.

She continued on a few more chapters before she realized the other girls were already tucked up in bed and asleep. With gentle hands, she bookmarked her place, put it on her bedside table, and knelt by her bed.

Ouch, she thought. The stone floor was a little uncomfortable. Next time she'd grab a pillow or something.

Hermione couldn't pray silently. Well, she physically could, but she never felt the same when she did. It was like part of her needed to speak to feel heard, and she'd long ago learned that it made her feel better to speak her prayers aloud. Still, she whispered as low as she could to not disturb her roommates.

"Dear Heavenly Father,

"Thank you for today. I loved it: I loved that the twins helped me on the train, I like that my roommates seem nice, and I thank you for helping me be brave as people stared today. I don't want to be a freak like in primary school, so please help me to with that. I'll try harder to be quiet in classes, and I promise to be patient with people around me.

"Please bless mum and dad. Help them not to worry about me, I'm alright. And you will help me.

"Tomorrow is a big day, Heavenly Father, so I'm a little nervous. Help me, please, to make a good first impression. To be kind and helpful. Help me to know where I can help, too, so I can show people your light."

Hermione breathed deeply, wanting to preserve the warmth and calm in her heart for tomorrow but knowing it would be hard to remember it.

"I'm going to bed now, but please let your Spirit be with me tomorrow. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

With the comfort of her reading and prayer in her heart Hermione crawled under her sheets, let Daedalus curl up next to her, and went to sleep not knowing that Tanwen as awake still. The girl hadn't been able to sleep yet – she always had a hard time on the first night – and heard the quiet whispers of the new student in their dorms and had heard her every word. They were touching, like hearing a child trying to brave a thunderstorm but still going to their parents, insisting 'I'm fine … but … can I stay with you?'. Endearing and earnest.

Tanwen rolled over and smiled to herself. Yep, Hermione Granger was a special kid.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

The first day of class was as great as the night before. Hermione woke up early, said a quick prayer, and showered away the rat's nest that had formed overnight. Tanny wouldn't let her go down to breakfast without the older girl forcing her to sit in one of the desk-vanities until they had pulled her hair back in a long braid, saying she wanted to try out something called a five strand.

"If you end up in potions today – which you will – you'll be glad we did this. Professor Snape deducts points for having your hair loose when you brew," Tanny informed her. "We only have him twice a week, _thank goodness_ , but we always brew the first Potions class of the year."

Hermione mentally stored that piece away and resolved to always wear a hair tie on her wrist. It wouldn't do to make Professor Snape upset with her.

When the girls had dressed and primped and packed their bookbags, they all headed down to the Great Hall together. Hermione was unintentionally on the outside of the group – she knew they meant no harm by it, but still felt a little out of sorts with how much history the girls had together – and was relieved whenever Tanny tried to keep her appraised of what they were discussing from last year. Still, it was nice when the boys showed up and plopped next to her in the Great Hall.

Fred gave her a wide grin and a vibrant sing-songy "Good morning!" before starting in without pre-amble, filling his plate with eggs and sausages.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Hermione giggled as George plopped next to his twin, a little less energetically. "And you, moonshine. So, Fred's the early riser then."

The twins immediately perked and looked at her.

"He's not Fred, I am."

Hermione looked closer at both twins before glaring. "You lied to me yesterday? Yesterday you said you-" she shoved her finger at the closer twin, "were Fred, and you were George. So which is it?"

Both twins exchanged a look. "Well, you passed the test."

"We weren't lying-"

"Yesterday. How'd you know-"

"He was Fred?"

Hermione giggled a little too wildly. She was clearly too excited for the first day. "That's a silly question."

Genuinely, Hermione didn't think it was a big deal. Yet both twins were still looking at her intently as she bit into her toast. "I remember which of you is Fred and which is George, that's all. It's not like I'd forget you guys overnight."

Fred and George jumped up immediately, and moved to the roommates on her other side. "Alright ladies, -"

"Let's play-"

"The guess the twin game!"

Some of the girls giggled while some rolled their eyes. The ones that giggled took them seriously and guessed between the two. They lied again, switching George and Fred, and the girls pretended to know that already, falling for it hook, line, and sinker. Hermione saw the grin the twins sent her, the smug little grin that pulled up a bit higher on Fred than George.

"Thanks for playing!" The twins bade the ladies farewell before parking back next to Hermione, this time scooching her over so they could go either side of her. "You see-"

"They've known us for what?"

"Two years?"

"And _they_ can't tell."

Hermione shook her head. "Lee can tell though, right?"

Twins nodded.

"Well there you go. You guys have the same faces, yes, and it's harder to tell than most, but that doesn't mean I'd mistake you two after being introduced."

She'd meant what she said the day before – Fred as different and just seemed freer. More spontaneous. George was more reassuring. It was easy to tell that Fred was the early bird over George, and easier when he smiled.

Both twins now, though, looked a little uneasy.

"Well, Ginny – our little sister – can tell."

"And Charlie!" George added.

"But mum can't, normally," Fred continued. "Sometimes she can, when she's paying attention."

"But she should!" Hermione cried out, earning looks from down the table. She shrank a little at that, while the twins chuckled. "Sorry."

"Naw, you're good."

"Mum's great, really."

"There's just a lot of us."

"It's enough that she can tell most of the time."

"We don't really make it easy, you know?"

Hermione frowned. "If you kept doing that switching thing, I guess I can understand that. But don't you want people to tell you apart?"

"Why?" Fred shrugged. "S'not important."

"Kind of fun seeing people flustered," George interjected. "And we if we stopped-"

"We wouldn't be so impressed at people like you," Fred finished with a wink, making her blush.

There was no opportunity to respond because just then McGonagall started to come around with the timetables for everyone. Hermione was now focused on the Professor, jumping up and down and feeling hope every time the Professor started in her direction only to give a timetable to another Gryffindor.

She was about to burst a vein when Fred and George got their schedules first, and the kindly let her see what classes they were taking while she waited for hers even if they did chuckle at her firstie enthusiasm.

"Six empty slots?" Hermione gasped. "It says you have two free periods this morning!"

"Seriously?" The twins looked over with a grin. "That's great! Three hours all for ourselves!"

The twins high-fived while Hermione frowned. "Is that normal?"

Fred and George shrugged. "Everything third year on is elective. We didn't sign up for any extras."

"We work better-"

"On our own, you see?"

"We'd rather use our time-"

"For more practical ventures."

Hermione frowned. "But there's just … no classes?"

Fred and George shrugged. "There's study hall twice a week. Why take away free periods?"

When she did get her timetable, she presented it to the twins for cross-reference.

"So you're with us for Defence, History, Potions, and Astronomy," George scanned over the lists. "And one of our Study Halls. Woah, you're taking Runes and Arithmancy?"

"Yes?" Hermione looked confused.

The twins both shook their heads in playful exasperation.

"They're elective-"

"Didn't you know?"

"You're taking the two hardest electives with the most class hours-"

"And then the required classes too -"

"Did you pick your schedule?"

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. "I didn't know I could. I guess … Maybe the Professors did? I mean, they said I'd have to live up to certain expectations, is this a part of it?"

"Do you even have a free period?" Fred examined the parchment critically before he yelped. "There! It just says 'Professor Snape'. What on earth...?"

They all looked at her parchment. Her free period was would have been a Study Hall – she only had one, in fact – but it looked like that wasn't in the cards. The last class of the day on Wednesdays, instead of being labelled as free was taken up by a sharp, scraggly script simply saying Professor Snape.

"He's helping me catch up in Potions," Hermione reasoned out. "Maybe I'm getting taught last class that day?"

"He doesn't have any free periods," Fred and George explained, looking at each other. "That's going to be smack in the middle of a Potion's class."

"Oh."

Fred and George were quick to reassure her, "You can always ask!"

Both boys got up from their seats and bugged the schedule-supplying McGonagall to come over to them. Hermione felt her body shrink as the woman came over with her normal stern look and pursed lips.

"Miss Granger? You have a question?"

Her voice failed for a moment before she held up her schedule. "The twins said Professor Snape doesn't have free periods, but it says on my schedule I'm to meet him every Wednesday for a period. I-I know it must be silly to worry about it, I'm sure Professor Snape will let me know if I'm needed, but-"

"Say no more," McGonagall said dismissively. "There is no error on your timetable. That is time set aside for additional study in Professor Snape's classroom. He has indicated that he needs assistance with his stores and you need experience with Potions ingredients. I imagine that while he teaches class, he will also be familiarizing you with ingredients. You would do well to thank him for agreeing to take on the additional responsibility."

At the stern look she gave over her spectacles, Hermione nodded frantically. "Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall gave her a pleased nod and went back to handing out schedules while Fred and George sat back down beside her.

"It's like you're being given weekly detention," Fred protested in murmur. "You have three classes with ol' Snapie today!"

"You sure you want to be a third-year?"

Hermione gave them an emphatic nod and from the glint in her eyes they knew she was serious. The twins backed off the subject then in favour of jumping up from the table with their bags now in hand.

"Well, enjoy Potions!" The twins bade farewell. "We've got pranks to cook up."

Hermione remembered what Angelina had called them. Jokesters. "Just … be good, okay?"

Both twins gave mischievous grins, but made no promises with their shouted, "See ya in Charms!"

Hermione sighed, looking at the empty spaces next to her now.

"Alone again, Granger?" She murmured.

But she wouldn't lament it; this was normal for her. She renewed her look at her schedule and over the classes she had that day. Double Potions, Runes, lunch, Charms, and then her extra lesson with Professor Snape. It was a very Potions-heavy day then, and she needed to impress her Professor. The Potions texts were out in a moment and she studied with scattered bites of her scrambled eggs and toast. The students all jumped up at the sound of the bells, making Hermione scramble to pack up her books, chug some pumpkin juice, and follow the crowd.

At least she needn't worry about getting lost. With the map of the school in her head from Hogwarts: A History, she was able to make her way down to the dungeons with a group of Ravenclaws just in front of her to let her know she was going the right way.

It made her sag in relief to see so many empty seats in the class when she arrived. She sat right at the front – it bugged her when people tried their hardest to avoid the spot, so it would be hypocritical to do so – and followed the example of the people around her in pulling out a parchment biro to set up neatly on the desk.

No one came to sit by her, but she waved at the other students with a forced brightness before distracting herself with review. Whispers floated around her as she sat there with her book on magical plants, and valiantly as she tried to ignore them they were just so loud.

"I thought this was a Raven-Snake class? What's the Gryffindor doing here?"

Apparently, they thought she was lost.

"Look how small she is; she's a third year?"

Or just curious.

"A lion in the front? The Professor'll rip her apart."

Maybe they were just concerned?

"I heard from Spinnet she's a muggleborn … no wonder she's studying so hard."

"No! Maybe she's related to the Dagworth-Grangers. They wouldn't move a _muggleborn_ forward."

"No, it's true! Look at that quill she's using! It's muggle!"

"She'll be lucky to have an actual potion by the end of class."

Hermione felt her spine stiffen. She could definitely brew a potion! She could! Not that she'd ever tried before ... but she'd made cookies with her mum, and she knew how to cook. And Professor Snape had even told her the valuable bit of advice not to use magic, so she'd been practicing the different cuts in the book with her parents before Hogwarts. They may have experience, but she was getting tutored by Professor Snape; if she didn't have the experience yet, she would. Hermione Granger would do nothing less than ace her classes.

Then the door banged opened and the room silenced as Professor Snape glided into the room like a spectre, no trace of emotion visible on his face. It seemed to freeze the room while Hermione just watched, curious. He moved to the front of the class and stared them down, his face not changing as he looked around the class. There was a flicker, though, in his eyes when he met her eyes. It was kind of acknowledgement that she wasn't expecting and she smiled brightly, earning a dark scowl in return.

"I will spare us all the niceties that normally accompany your first class of term," his voice was dark and slick, eyes piercing. "You are here to resume your studies and we will do so. You all have the necessary supplies?"

Heads bobbed in acknowledgment.

He swished his wand and the directions for the Wiggenweld Potion appeared on the blackboard behind him, the chalkwork looking as if it had been done painstakingly before class instead of in a single sweeping motion of his wand. It wasn't labelled as the Wiggenweld Potion, but Hermione recognized the ingredients. Or at least, she was sure she did. But it was different, dissimilar. Her hand moved to her textbook and Snape glared at her harshly.

"Miss Granger, the lauded exception;" Professor Snape growled, "perhaps you could return your book to your bag and tell me which potion is on the board before you."

Hermione obeyed nervously. He hadn't glared at her like that ever. "It looks a lot like the Wiggenweld Potion, sir."

His eyes sharpened. "How surprising. You guessed correctly."

The scathing reply left he gaping like a fish at the Professor.

"I'm sure, since you are such an exceptional student," his voice was like a knife, "that you will be fine to brew this potion alone."

Before she could protest, he finished his own query. "Of course you can: you wouldn't have been arrogant enough to sit apart from your classmates if you weren't confident in your own brewing abilities."

Her jaw clenched shut from her gaping into a tight grind. Why was he being so mean?

"With the stunning exception of Miss Granger, you will be brewing in pairs," Snape addressed the rest of the class. "Begin with one of you setting up your station and the other retrieving the ingredients from the storeroom. Miss June, you will let your partner grab your ingredients; no need to waste valuable items by covering you in them once more."

The students might have chuckled if they weren't so scared of Professor Snape. They jumped up and went to work, and Hermione with them. Arrogant, he'd called her arrogant! She was fuming as she hurriedly assembled her Potions station with her cauldron and devices, trying to light the burner to warm the cauldron base. All she had was flint, though, so she struggled with it.

"Are you even a witch?" One of the Slytherins huffed as he passed her, scathing in his retort.

"Any magic near the cauldron before a brew could tamper with it," Hermione hissed at him, turning off the burner and trying to wave away the gas before trying again. She liked her eyebrows where they were, thank you very much. Finally, she got the flame going and laughed in glee. "Yes!"

"Miss Granger," Snape bit from his desk, "do not disturb your peers, or you will be losing points."

She shrank a little, but nodded. Turning down the flame low enough that it was simply warming the cauldron, Hermione ran off to the storeroom to retrieve her ingredients.

"Miss Granger!" She whirled around to see livid black eyes at her back. "We do not leave unattended flames at our stations!"

He had seen her lighting it without a single ingredient at her station, but hadn't told her to change course until _after_ the time had already been wasted. Hermione knew she couldn't blame him, it was a safety thing with the fire, but it irked her that not only had she not realized it but that Professor Snape hadn't told her earlier while she was struggling to light it. It would make it harder to finish the potion in time if she had to relight the burner and start again, but the look in his eyes was not to be questioned. She shut off her burner before making her way to the cupboard of ingredients everyone else seemed to be going for and looked around at the shelves to try and find what she was looking for.

She collected most things without incident, but when it got to the dried mint sprig, it was impossible!

All the leaves looked the same to her! In the book they weren't already plucked but on trees or bushes or stalks, and now the leaves looked too similar when dried and piled in baskets. She had the other ingredients – they had the sense to be labelled – but the herbs themselves were not labeled at all. Which one was the mint?

A hand beside her startled her and she nearly fell over in the storeroom. Professor Snape. He plucked a sprig from a basket on the shelf and extended it to her. A veritable olive branch, but a silent one. She gaped.

"I could swear I had labels on all the ingredients in these stores," Professor Snape told her meaningfully.

Her heart stopped. The other students … someone had deliberately set her up to fail. They had removed the name cards so she would pick the wrong ingredient and ruin her potion. The memory of a hundred noogies, multiple skirt raisings, and thousands of shoves that left her with scrapes and bruises made her stiffen. It was only the first day at this new school, and they already knew she was the odd one out. The freak.

"I would get started on your brew, Miss Granger," Professor Snape prodded tersely. She grabbed the sprig and pit it in her little basket. "Perhaps, while you do, I will hunt for my labels."

Hermione scuttled quickly from the closet, not wanting to get in the way. She needn't have worried, as Professor Snape followed her out and raised a wand to the class.

"I have often stated that I do not appreciate any interference in the potion stores," he said silkily. "You have five seconds in which to admit your guilt before I simply summon the evidence from your pockets."

Immediately a partner group of Ravenclaws produced the parchment labels from their pockets and presented them to the Professor.

"I thought so," he pocketed his wand and glared at the offending girls. "For coming forward, your punishment will be less severe ..." The girls looked up in hope, but were quickly shot down. "That will be 5 points each from Ravenclaw and detention on Friday night with your Head of House. And on the first day back, too. How … disappointing."

The rest of the Double Potions class was tense and mostly silent. Hermione was nearly too small to reach her cauldron well and had practically been climbing on the countertop until Snape had deemed her a hazard to the class and had conjured her an embarrassingly childish, pink stepping stool. They had snickered at her, but at least now she could reach and watch the colours of the potion she was making.

She jumped a little and added too much honey water as the Professor yelled at the students behind her. "Mister Ward! Have you forgotten all of your previous education?! Your knives are dull, your station is a mess of ingredients, and you have mixed up your sloth brain mucus with your billywig sting slime! They are not even similar!"

There was a shaking nervousness in her spine, but she persevered despite the mishaps behind and in front of her. It was tense-going but Hermione finished her brew with a little time to spare - enough to let her breathe a sigh of relief. It had ended up off-colour, dark blue instead of a lighter turquoise and had been seeking an answer. The honey-water obviously, but it seemed she also hadn't used the right setting on her burner an had overheated her mixture. It was partly intentional, she admitted to herself; to get the potion done, she had turned up the heat between phases to get the potions simmering again after an ingredient was added.

But the recipe was just so different from the one that had been there in her text she just couldn't be sure that was the only thing wrong. She noted the changes in the margins with her pen – Hermione Granger would not let this go. Researching the changes would be on the top of her to-do list.

Ten minutes before the bell rang for lunch, Professor Snape strode back to the front of the class and erased the instructions on the board, panicking a few people who hadn't yet finished.

He strode up to her cooling cauldron and gave her a glaring eye. "Congratulations, your mixture might just be strong enough to wake a mouse." The Slytherins laughed. "Should you wish to make healing potions for _people_ however, you have failed. Perhaps next time you should ask assistance from your vastly more informed peers."

He then turned to the rest of the room,

"If you have not finished yet, you will not," he growled. "All potions off the heat!"

People hurried to follow their instructions.

"This has been most disappointing," he intoned lowly. "This potion is one of six potential potions selected for exams at the end of the year. And from how few of you even managed to finish your brews, even to the dismal standard of Miss Granger, you have a very long way to go."

He billowed as he paced the front of the class. "To make up for your abysmal performance, you will write two feet on the Wiggenweld Potion that will include the conditions under which you would ever administer it, and the consequences for administering potion where, like Mister Ward, you confused two of the ingredients and added them in the wrong order. You will have this done in a week."

Hermione scrambled to write down the assignment in her day planner, including the required information. She would not fail in her written assignment like she did in class.

"Now," Professor Snape growled, "I'm sure I needn't remind you to clean your knives and your mixers, and I'm certain you will not disrespect me by leaving your stations in anything less than pristine condition. I expect your cutting boards cleaned and any and all spills, dustings, or other contaminants clear from your station before the bell rings. Any messy stations will lose five points for their house. Go!"

Hermione had already wiped off her station, so she focused on bottling a portion of her potion and turning it in at the front before cleaning her cauldron and packing everything up. She felt a nervous pull in her stomach as Professor Snape stared intently at her vial, clearly assessing its quality more closely than he had at her station before marking down something in a little book on his desk. Her grade, she guessed with a worried bit of her lip. It was only hope that let her believe he would be gracious with his grading where he wasn't with his words.

"Miss Granger, you will remain after class," the Professor called.

Her heart stopped. It was clear he thought she'd done horribly in class, but would he be sending her back to first-year because of it? The worry ate at her until the last of the class trickled from the room and Professor Snape closed the door behind them.

At this point, Hermione was close to tears in worry and disappointment at her performance and had her head bowed so Professor Snape couldn't see the glistening in her eyes. She was just so embarrassed.

"Miss Granger," here it comes, "for your first class in my subject, the potion you made – while working alone – was better than I expected."

 _What?_ The tears still shimmering in her eyes, Hermione looked up to see her Professor as serious as ever, but this time serious in his praise. She gaped.

"You will improve drastically, of course, with our lessons," he continued, ignoring her shock, "but for a first effort it was adequate. Did your parents aid in your preparation for this as well?"

Hermione barely managed to squeak out a. "Yes, sir."

He observed her. "Using the textbook?"

"Yes, sir."

That seemed to appease Professor Snape for the moment, as his confrontational posture relaxed from crossed arms to hands clasped behind his back. "Good. Now, you are aware of your additional time in my classroom this afternoon?"

Hermione nodded frenetically, dislodging some of her braid into frizz around her head. Snape smirked down at her.

"You will be helping me fix my storeroom," he explained. "For today, at least. Next week I'll have essays for you to look over – not grade, but read for learning – but today we will work on your knowledge of ingredients. It should help prevent today's … _mishap_ … from occurring again."

Relief flooded through her system and she launched forward, grabbing the Professor in a tight hug. He was still the same as the summer, still nice. He praised her and wanted to protect her from ever feeling as helpless as she had in the store cupboard again.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

His gruff shout could be heard from all across the castle.

" _Miss Granger!_ "


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

Severus was always observant, both to his detriment and to his benefit. The detriment being that even if he despised a student – like Potter – he still payed them far too much mind. But this week he'd found it a slim comfort.

Draco was having regular rows with his classmates and was having a difficult time managing his dreadful temper. Growing up with Lucius' expectations had done that to the boy, but he had taken to watching the boy at meals and in class to make sure he was taking the appropriate care with himself. He had found Zabini to be a surprising match for the boy, but when he carefully considered the two he had to admit the genius. Ever non-judgemental Zabini tampered Draco's own malicious temper, but with cunning. And Malfoy clearly provided the boy with some measure of entertainment as the Italian boy seemed to shoot Draco mirthful grins whenever they spoke.

Hermione Granger was another he watched. So far she seemed content with her friends in Gryffindor's third year, but he also noticed how she unconsciously gravitated to the outside of any groups – she seemed to fear making herself a nuisance to them. She especially avoided Miss Spinnet, always placing herself on the other side of the group. This action wouldn't be obvious to them – no girl who interjected so loudly and vehemently mid-conversation could possibly have such insecurities, not in their two-dimensional minds – but it was clear that the girl feared to become too close or too far from any group she was a part of.

The Weasley Twins must have picked up on it subconsciously, he noticed, because they seemed to constantly put her between the two of them in a move of genuine affection for the young charge they'd picked up.

After the first class there had been no further attempts at sabotage, but he _had_ forced a seating chart on the unsuspecting students. Severus had not done so before this year, but ingredients were costly and Miss Granger needed to be paired up with her classmates (if he were being honest, it was not about the ingredients but trying to help her).

The ever-solitary Mister Price of his own house was therefore partnered with the first-year girl. There were no protests and no gripes from the close-lipped beanpole Slytherin, only a silent shuffling of his gear as he sat in his seat and a polite introduction to the one of Miss Granger only after she had offered one first. He hadn't seen a problem in the pairing yet. It seemed someone in Slytherin had discerned his very subtle praise of Miss Granger's first potion because he never bemoaned being with a less experienced brewer. Price worked silently with his partner and calmed the girl with small phrases when she worked herself into a frazzled frenetic fever. It was quite a good pairing, in his mind.

Her tutor … that was a different dynamic altogether. It needed to be, he knew, but he worried he'd made the situation too volatile. He'd selected a Hufflepuff for her tutor, much to the fear of the wayward Miss Quinn. She was a good student that had been an excellent Sixth-Year Prefect, but Sprout never reused Prefects. Different ever year so more students had the opportunity, or some rubbish of the socialist side. Miss Quinn wanted to be a private tutor – the wizarding world's equivalent to primary school teacher and nanny for the purebloods – and needed the experience. She also had excellent scores and was someone no one would contest as Miss Granger's tutor.

Yet he had underestimated the Hufflepuff's vigor. There was a fire in the girl's belly that had been tamped down in his class, and the same sort of fighting spirit as Miss Granger when teaching. It would be a good profession for her once she was dealing with more … easily convinced children. Her and Miss Granger argued not half an hour into their first tutoring session about the usefulness of one charm over another.

Honestly, he couldn't have cared less about the subject so long as Miss Granger controlled her outbursts of magic. He'd been informed of the incident on the train, after all, and would prefer not to have a repeat. He considered it a good sign that she hadn't cursed Miss Quinn (accidentally or otherwise).

Yes, so far she was doing fine. Adjusting well.

His unfounded attention to the girl did not curb his anger though as he pulled his muggle suit from the closet Sunday morning with a grimace and a cleansing charm. He wore the thing rarely – once or twice a year – but there were never positive experiences associated with it. He felt his shields raising just at the sight of the suit.

He was dressed and fuming when the happy, rhythmic knocking came. "Enter!"

A bushy head on top of Sunday best skipped into the room. She had a habit of skipping to get places quickly, as if she was convinced it was the fastest way.

"Get in, Miss Granger," he snapped, "before you let in the cold."

Hermione quickly did as he asked, a little too zealously by the slamming of the door. Glaring at her seemed to have no effect against her as she came to stand next to his desk.

"I'm a little early, sorry, but Mom and Dad wanted me to tell you what to expect today," she smiled up at him. "Is that okay?"

"Sit," he instructed, indicating the sofa across from him. She followed his command immediately, even after just a few days of class. He allowed himself a smirk. "Tell me what I must know."

She straightened herself up and pulled out a piece of paper from her little Sunday purse, unfolding it vigorously to get to the list she'd undoubtedly made in preparation. "So mum said the easiest way to explain is to take you through what's going to happen today. That okay?"

He nodded.

"Okay, so usually the first hour and a bit is sacrament meeting," Hermione told him with a smile. "It's the best part. We sing, take the sacrament, and listen to talks or testimony. You don't have to take the sacrament, sir. It's meant to remind us of our covenants, but if you haven't made any to God then that's fine."

Severus tilted his head. Covenant … a promise of a very religious sense, but akin to an oath in their own world. Little Miss Granger seemed to just gloss over it like it was common knowledge as opposed to something quite _uncommon_ in all the societies he knew of.

"After Sacrament, it's time for classes for you and Primary for me," she continued, biting her lip. "Will you be okay on your own?"

"I will not be leaving your side, Miss Granger," he intoned lowly. "Part of my responsibility in taking you is to escort you to all the events you must attend. Including the Primary."

"But, it's for kids!" Hermione argued. "You'll be really bored, sir."

"Will you be?" he levelled his gaze at her as her face flushed guiltily. "I assumed so. You have informed me yourself that boredom can trigger your accidental magic, Miss Granger, and therefore I will be watching over your classes as well."

She blushed in fury, but wisely didn't fight him. Instead she looked at her paper. "Mum says we need to say hi to the bishop when we get there."

"Bishop?"

Hermione nodded. "A bishop is the priesthood holder in charge of a ward, or, er – how do I put it? – the ward is a group of us in one area. Anyone who lives nearby is the bishop's responsibility. Hogwarts isn't really on anyone's maps, but mom says my bishop will be Bishop Boyd."

"And we … greet him? Why?"

Severus was picturing the bishops of the Catholic church, men in robes and tall hats who stood at the front of a large room like they stood on top a great mountain and would probably only need a look at him to decide his soul was in peril.

"So he knows I'm there and can welcome me to the ward," she responded as if it was obvious. "Mom told him I was going to be there without my family, and she says he's going to call them every week to let them know how I am. He thinks I phone them instead of sending owls, but my parents want him to tell them how I am too. I'm going to make a good impression so he doesn't worry mum and dad."

Though he huffed out his frustration he still nodded his acquiescence, making her smile too enthusiastically in return.

He was powerless against the roll of his eyes at her overeager expression. "You've eaten?"

Her curls bounced up and down with her head. "And you have all your belongings?"

Again, the frenetic shaking. She was faintly blurring with the movement. "We are still early, but if you wish to speak with your… bishop … we should leave now. You need the extra Potions tutoring and I will not spend a second longer than necessary catering to foolishness."

The girl was not pleased with his comment but followed him out obediently with her face scrunched up her presumably grand effort at keeping herself silent at his disregard for her faith. A clever girl she was to keep her mouth shut, and hopefully clever enough to forsake the foolish practise of religion before the end of the year for his own sanity.

* * *

The bishop wasn't wearing white or red robes, or robes of any sort. He was a typical big-bellied married man with a cheery smile and bright eyes popping from his hooded lids. His wife – a homely woman with soft eyes and short hair – was actually on his arm as he came to greet Hermione and himself. A wise move, Severus could see, because the woman immediately crouched down to greet Hermione with a smile every mother but his seemed versed in.

"Hello thaur, hen," her thick Scottish accent made him cringe. "Yoo're Hermione, arenae ye?"

Hermione looked confused by the dialect but nodded as if she understood. The woman clasped her hand and shook it happily. The women from there engaged in small talk under his scrutiny.

"She's been looking forward tae meeting you since your parents called," the bishop explained, smiling at the young girl. "It's good to have you in the ward, Sister Granger."

The bishop turned to Severus then and extended his hand. "You must be her instructor. I'm Bishop Boyd."

Severus refused to shake, standing firm. "I am Professor Severus Snape. And you aren't from the area."

"I came here for work and stayed fer my wife," Bishop Boyd laughed. He seemed disappointed, but not offended at Severus' dismissal and simply lowered his hand. He continued to talk as if they were forming a connection. "Picked up a bit of a lilt over the years though. Could ye tell I'm not a northerner?"

"Obviously."

Hermione grabbed his hand then, but showed no reason for doing so; she was still engaged in her little discussion with the Bishop's wife. He ignored her public clinging and returned focus to the cheerful man.

"My pupil is to remain in my line of sight for all her activities while we are off school grounds," Professor Snape informed them as monotonously as if reading it straight from a book. "However, Miss Granger has expressed concerns over me being present in her classes today."

The Bishop nodded understandingly.

"It'll be strange to the other kids, but there's no rules 'bout it. Yer twelfth birthday is in two weeks, yes?" The bishop asked the girl at his side who nodded excitedly. "Then there'll be no need to go to Primary. We'll start you in Young Women's just a couple weeks early."

The girl bounced excitedly out from behind him and grabbed the Bishop's hand in a vigorous, jumping shake that made her already turbulent curls jumble messily. "Thank you! Thank you!"

The glass doors opened behind him and he saw two young boys in suits with name tags come through the door. The Bishop greeted them instantly and brought them over, presenting them to Professor Snape and Hermione.

"Professor Snape, Sister Granger, these are Elders Miles and Cross," Bishop Boyd pronounced.

"Ah, yes," Severus regarded them both with disdain. "Your … peddlers."

"We prefer the name 'missionaries'," the boy wearing the badge of Elder Cross pointed out with an indulgent smile, as if he hadn't just been insulted by a stranger. "Anyways, today we're just here to answer any questions you have, Professor. I'm sure our church might be a little confusing for you at times; it's practically a different culture here, so we want to make sure you're comfortable."

Hermione jumped up then and looked up the boy in front of her, her eyes discerning. "I've seen you before."

Elder Cross bent down and looked at the girl too, like long-lost acquaintances. "Hey, you're the dentist's kid, aren't ya? From London, the, the-shoot, what's the name?"

"Happy Smiles Dentistry?" Hermione provided helpfully.

He snapped his fingers. "That's the one"

"My parents run it." Hermione emphasized her pride with a little 11-year-old jump. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Elder Nathan Cross, at your service," they shook hands and Elder Cross looked up at his companion. "This girl's parents took out my wisdom teeth. You know the story I told you, 'bout me fighting the nurses and stuff?"

His companion laughed. "You thought you were Batman, right?"

Severus scoffed at them, instantly silencing the pair. "I see that no matter what religion, boys are still idiots. And these are your emissaries?"

That scathing comment had been directed to the Bishop, but it was Elder Miles who answered. "Better a smile than a scowl, sir."

His sneer deepened even as Elder Cross elbowed his companion.

Severus stood tall and glowered at the pair. "Let me disabuse you of any false notions you're harboring in your skulls; I am here to accompany Miss Granger and nothing more. There will be no attempts to convert me, no invitations to tea, and no heartfelt exchanges of beliefs. Is that clear?"

They nodded but indulgently, making Severus gnash his teeth. It was the nod of appeasement you give a sulky toddler, not one for a grown man like him and certainly not one that would denote respect. But before he could chew into them, Hermione grabbed his hand once again and looked at him with her own disapproving glare.

"Be nice!" she emphasized with a tug on his arm. "You don't have to be mean, we're not in class!"

He sighed. The girl clearly believed their strange, informal relationship was for after class hours and she included Sunday church in the mix. If he wanted to kill that trusting light in her eyes he could chew into that comment and continue his vitriol but he wouldn't. He felt strangely helpless against the little puff-ball and her simple understanding. Rolling his eyes at her, he turned to the two unperturbed Elders.

"Very well, I will not object to your company today," he offered. There would be no apologies, but Miss Granger jumped in excitement so it must have been enough. "But my warning still stands."

"Of course, Professor," Elder Cross smiled at the pair. "How about we go in and grab a seat, then, and get to know each other. Where did you grow up, sir?"

He gnashed his teeth at the audacity of such a question. "Cokeworth."

Bishop Boyd and Sister Boyd waved them goodbye. "See you after church!"

With the girl bouncing at his side, Severus was led into a large room with a fairly low but risen pulpit and a set of wooden, padded pews with ugly, horribly patterned green fabric upholstery. It was so … vibrant. Like many warm environments, Severus was forced to Occlude to keep himself from showing how uncomfortable he was within this type of environment. It was a weakness, but he knew that – without that character, he portrayed without his outward display of coldness – he would flinch just from sitting down.

Leather, leather would be better. Or just plain wood, just not in the bright tones used in these pews that were such a mixture of yellow and red that they gleamed like sunlight but instead a darker or more distressed wood.

Adults would have noticed nothing wrong with his behaviour. They would have dismissed his coldness as _Severus Snape is just that way normally_ , _Severus is always standoff-ish. He's just in a mood._ They had learned that behaviour through years of knowing him, or knowing his reputation, or even experiencing other people with a similar disposition in their pasts. Some even dismissed it as being a Death Eater, proof that he was dark.

It seemed the girl had not learnt that life lesson.

Her bouncing stopped in the pew the moment he sat down stiffly next to her. In the place of her exuberance came a warm, comforting smile and a hug to his arm.

"Thank you, sir," she said happily. Clearly her bounce had made its way to voice when not in use, he observed. "You're okay, right?"

He should not be forced to comfort a child over _his_ emotional state. There was no logic in feeling guilty for worrying the chit. But her earnest inquiry still forced his mouth open for a curt, "Yes."

Even then it wasn't enough for the girl. She bounced and got this little anxious furrow between her eyes as she scrunched up her face. "You don't sound okay. I feel like I need to help you."

Severus shot her a sharp look, normally enough to cow little children but, of course, ineffective on the brat beside him. He hated her direct speech. Her words were awful and sincere, piercing through his deceptions and hiding because they didn't focus solely on him but instead were about the girl's feelings.

"I do not require your aid to sit," Severus bit, harsher than he felt. The girl looked confused so he turned to the two annoying men to dissuade her questions. "Is this … work your profession?"

Both boys laughed, earning a deeper scowl from him.

"Naw, Professor, nothing like that," Elder Cross answered too cheerfully. "We don't get paid. Most ever member here served two-year missions for the church like us. We get sent all over the world, working every day to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ. It's purely on a volunteer basis. We actually pay for our missions ourselves."

"So you put your life on hold, do not earn a single penny, and still pay your own way in order to ...what, knock on doors?" he summarized in disbelief. "And you say most of the people in this church do so? Willingly? Are you all mentally ill?"

Elder Cross smiled indulgently, but it seemed his manner was at least getting to the boy next to him. He felt a perverse pleasure from making this goody-goody angry.

"We get more from serving than we sacrifice," the missionary told him, much to his skepticism. "Haven't you ever had the happiness that comes from just giving selflessly? The work is hard, but that just teaches us hard work, right, and then there are the blessings that come."

"More religious nonsense."

Elder Cross shook his head. "No, not really. I mean, you shouldn't expect as big of miracles as the kind Jesus performed in your life, though they do sometimes happen. That's not common. But sometimes a miracle is comfort coming either from God or an unlikely source. Or even the ability to live a productive life just from living the principles of the gospel and trying to be the best you can be. It may seem far-fetched to you, Professor, or even too small to count as a miracle, but people are happier when they open their hearts to the world around them."

Severus sneered. _Open their hearts?_ He'd fallen in with a bunch of hippies. God-worshipping, suit-and-tie wearing hippies. Naïve little boys like them needed to be hurt, and badly before they got themselves killed by following the wrong person down an alley or trying to befriend tigers in the wild. How could anyone believe the world was a kind place that could make you happy?

"You must have only recently been weaned." People were coming in just now, all dressed as though this were some kind of special event and most of the women dressed in bright colours and happy prints. The witches of the Wizarding World would never dress in these types of revealing, bright clothes. At most lacey with a solid, light colour. Yet these women seemed to be completely unaware at how blinding they were. Was that floral, or some kind of abstract muggle painting? One of the women went up to the organ at the pulpit and began a cheerful tune. "What is that woman doing?"

"Prelude music," Hermione jumped to answer his question. "We listen to it and get ready for the meeting."

"Get ready, how?" He was cautious as to what would be required of him.

He was surprised then when the Elder beside him laughed. "Nothing like that, Professor. Some people take the time now before the meeting starts to think about what we want to learn. Like I'm hoping I can learn the patience to live with this nutter next to me. He snores like some warthog blowing bubbles."

The other Elder glared. "You don't have to tell people. Just buy some ear plugs."

"Shhh!"

Miss Granger glared at the pair of them much too seriously for her age and pointed to the pulpit. The Bishop he'd met previous was standing now, making his way to the microphone. The ' _congregation_ ' – apparently that was what they called this gaggle of hippies – turned to him to be greeted by the too cheerful smile of their Bishop.

"Good mornin," he greeted kindly. "I like ta see so many faces here today. First, we have a bit ay ward business. We 'have received the records of a member who has moved into our ward. I'd invite her to stand as we present her name. We got the membership records for Sister Hermione Granger and would like to welcome her ta the ward. Stand up, there little sister."

Severus watched the girl jump to her feet and wave to the room, earning some coos and laughs in return. Really, did she have to turn herself into a spectacle just to get attention? 

"She's 'ere for boarding school, an' will be for a while, so make 'er welcome. All those who can accept this sister into our ward in full fellowship please show by the uplifted hand."

This was different. The people in the room all lifted their right hands as if swearing some kind of oath, but it was a greeting of some sort for the girl. Odd. Some cast a glance at him as well but they were quickly glared away.

"Thank you," Bishop Boyd said to his little flock. Then smiling at Hermione, "You may be seated."

She plopped herself down on the pew and made the bench wiggle just a little at her frenetic action. It seemed the girl was still buzzing from being the center of attention.

The meeting progressed. Songbooks were opened three – three! – horrible times for everyone in the room to sing their happy, spirited songs which Miss Granger seemed to think he was responsible for singing, and none of which he did. For the second song, the girl had tried to get her to stand with the rest of them only to be scowled at fiercely enough that she actually stomped her foot in frustration before she refocused on the songs she sung.

The songs, though, he could handle. It was the _people_ who were odious. Apparently the first Sunday of each month these supposed religious leaders let any person in their audience wander up to the microphone and preach about religion. Testimony meeting, they called it. And there were so. Many. Tears.

Each woman who approached the pulpit seemed to cry and their voices because so distorted and their accents so thick that he could not understand a single word. The old men were the same, their warbling voices shaking so fiercely that he was sure the shaking was what induced the tears. He'd cry too if he couldn't be still.

His heart remained cold until the girl next to him made for the front. There had been about thirty seconds of silence – it seemed the Miss Granger could bear no more and decided to fill it herself. A part of him wondered if he should have grabbed her before she stepped on a little stool to reach the microphone.

"Hello!" She said in the bright way he now was convinced was her default. "I wanted to bear my testimony today. I know that everyone is good at heart, that we are all children of God. My teacher brought me here today and, even though he isn't really happy about it, even he feels the Spirit. I know, I can feel it when he does."

 _What?_ That girl, she dared … Severus seethed silently at her words. He did not feel some fake religious apparition. And being good? He truly needed to be crueler with the girl. She didn't even dare to look at him while she said such things.

"We are all children of God, and he loves us. I … I miss mum and dad."

His anger quickly evaporated as the girl started to cry, just a little.

"But I miss Heavenly Father too," she said with a warble. "I like thinking he acts like my own dad does. That when I pray I go into his study in heaven and talk to him. And when I talk to him, I want to be able to make him smile and tell me, 'I'm proud of you.' But he's our Father and …, *sniff*, he loves us no matter what. No matter if we've made mistakes. If we don't think we're good enough."

Each word was running him through with a pike. This girl had such a happy view of fathers. But nearly any perspective would be happier than his own. Resentment for his own father sloshed around in his heart, shook and agitated by her words like the sea in a storm.

"I love this church, and I love how I feel when I follow the commandments," Hermione flashed a watery smile at everyone. "And I bear my testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

The tears were still flowing down her childlike, chubby cheeks, but Severus resisted the impulse to go collect her. She had done this herself and needed to face the walk back to the pew. It seemed to she felt very little shame for the tears and prance-skipped back.

The tears stilled his anger, but when she sat next to him he leaned over and warned her, "Do not _ever_ mention me up there again. Understood?"

Hermione frowned at him, tears still in her eyes. "You're supposed to say whatever you feel."

"You should feel nothing but fear for me!" He hissed. "You will never do that again!"

It was odd that he could see exactly what was going on in her mind. She'd expected him to praise her probably for her bravery, or compliment her words, or thank her for the kindness of mentioning him. Instead, he had picked her apart. She slumped sadly and her backbone died in her spine, and it did not bring him any pleasure.

"Sorry."

He was saved from his guilt by the Elder sitting by her, who leaned over. "That was a good testimony, little Sister."

A little of the light came back to her and he felt the clenching in his stomach give. There, someone could always repair any damage he caused. He had no responsibility to the girl, to any of the students.

Still, he did not meet her gaze for the rest of the meeting.

Teenage. Girls. He was stuck. Stuck in a small room with two dozen teenage girls. Unless he was in the Slytherin girl's dormitory – which was only done for extreme illness, infighting, or emergencies – Severus never allowed himself in such a dire predicament.

Apparently this was the Young Women's class. All the girls were from Granger's age to eighteen, and all the teachers were older women with either too much energy or too little. An old woman was there knitting baby blankets, but the woman in charge was a barely thirty-years-old waif of a woman who jumped and shrieked with the girls as if she too were a teen.

He refused her invitation to sit with the teachers and stationed himself in the darkest corner, glaring at anyone who came close. He would not be sucked in here. There was not an ounce of testosterone in this room that looked like Easter had exploded on the walls with all its pastels. If Lucius saw him here he would be emasculated.

He watched as Hermione hugged – _hugged!_ – each girl in welcome and introduced herself. The girls her own age seemed wary, but the older girls seemed to find the girl as amusing as he did. When her own introductions were done, the girls asked about _him_.

"Who's he?" they whispered as if he could not hear their every breath. "He's scary."

He withheld a smirk.

"That Professor Snape, he teaches Chemistry at my school," she said. Why she turned and waved at him as if he needed the reassurance that she knew he was there was ridiculous, but she just giggled at his raised brow before turning back to his friends. "He's weird and very nice."

"Weird?"

 _He was weird?_ Severus had been called worse things, but why had he earned that particular epithet?

"Everyone's a little weird," Hermione announced proudly. "I'm weird too! Besides, I like him. He just doesn't smile very much."

Ah. Insult no longer insulting, Severus relaxed back into the wall.

Hermione was invited to church activities throughout the week, and Severus vehemently declined. He was only required for this one day and one day alone. If he needed to spend another few hours a week in this horrible decorated, all too plush environment he may very go mad. To his surprise Hermione wasn't upset, and agreed with his decision wholeheartedly.

She actually told her peers that, "The Professor actually had me move ahead in my classes, so I really need to spend that time on homework anyways."

That had earned her an approving nod at which the girl gave her trademarked all too happy smile. Such a small thing that the girl seemed thrilled to receive.

After retreating to the Bishop's office for Miss Granger's phone call, the group gave her a little privacy to talk by sitting in the corner of the room.

"So, what did you think of service, Professor?" the Bishop asked.

Severus sneered. "Your teachings are foolish and naïve, your meetings run by inexperienced idiots, and those _boys_ you assigned to me are clearly delusional to voluntarily fund their two-year folly."

There. This Bishop would undoubtedly be offended, he would not be allowed to return. McGonagall might be upset, but he would still be wasting time tutoring the girl-

Severus' thoughts froze once Bishop Boyd laughed.

"Well, we are all inexperienced in some areas," the man dared to say. "There're no paid positions in the church, even mine, and so we all do our part to teach each other. And I suppose to someone on the outside it does seem strange to go on these missions."

 _This man!_ Professor Snape grit his teeth in irritation. It should have been so easy to offend him; his foolish views of open hearts and constant evaluation and revaluation should have made his words piercing even to an adult.

"Still," he mused, "what today did you find so naïve, 'fessor?"

He should try harder to be abrasive. "You teach of forgiveness and second chances when some deserve none, and open-heartedness when those around you would see you hurt and dead. Your _members_ are learning nothing more than to be victims in a world filled with liars, maniacs, killers, and sadists. It goes against the nature of survival."

In a moment of fortunate timing on par with his accidental discovery of the Compulsion Concoction (a foolish name that Dumbledore had dubbed it), Miss Granger then hung up the phone and enabled him to leave the conversation and this horrible building. The sooner away, the better.

He swept the girl away from what would undoubtedly have been tearful goodbyes or more religious talk in favor of bundling the girl into apparition the moment they turned the corner away from the steepled building.

They landed at the gates of Hogwarts and Severus finally allowed himself a deep breath while the girl recovered from the motion sickness.

"When we get up to the school, you will return to your dormitory and change from your Sunday clothes into something more suitable for brewing," Severus informed her. "Will I hear any complaints from you?"

The girl shook her head no, but hesitated in a way he equated with children holding something back.

"Miss Granger, I require a verbal response, and a truthful one. You were told that today is an opportunity to brew and develop your skills for class. Do your beliefs not allow this?"

The girl bit her lip. "Sir, they don't disallow it. We're allowed to decide ourselves. But I asked mum, and I was wondering … do you always brew on Sundays? On your own?"

He wondered at her words. Something her mother had written her or told her over the phone today had made her ask this. And her choice of words made it seem that if it was not a common activity for him then she would refuse.

"Indeed," Severus nodded. "Brewing or reading. I do not have limitless time to do so as the dunderheaded students always manage to find trouble on their free days, but I enjoy the activities while I can."

"Well, if you're already spending time there…" Miss Granger smiled and skipped next to him, clearly having made her choice to be tutored that day.

He shook his head. "What do your beliefs say about Sundays?"

"Sundays are for Church activities, and resting," he was told. The girl looked him in the eye seriously. "But … mum says it's okay if I want to keep you company. Just don't make it too much of a lesson, okay?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Interesting beliefs if you can so carelessly discard them on such technicalities, Miss Granger."

Her tiny hand came to his elbow and pulled, stopping him short as she glared up at him with the most venom he'd ever seen her display. He could nearly see the steam coming from her ears as she seethed.

"Don't say that!" Her hands were on her little hips, and her lip warbled like she was holding back a series of insults. "I'm not just saying things – I'm not a hypocrite!"

Her anger brought his to the surface and she sneered at the little girl. "Really?"

"Really!" she snapped. "I'm allowed to do this!"

"Oh, allowed," drawled Severus. "How good of your God to allow you education."

The moment he mentioned her God, Severus knew he'd stepped too far. The girl had been barely withholding her anger at him, but now her hair was filled with small purple sparks jumping and curling through the nest. She was making the quintessential angry-child face, the one where they breathed viciously in an attempt to calm themselves but would inevitably end up yelling anyways.

But too his horror, instead of screaming, the sparking girl's face contorted and tears started down her face. He recoiled.

"You can't say things like that!" cried out the girl, her hands in fists. "Why would you say that?!"

The wrong move would be to remain silent; the girl was young, and clearly used to being the sole attraction to her parents, thus any sign of being ignored and the situation would escalate. This would be remembered in Severus' mind later, but for now he simply stood there, mouth gummed shut.

The girl, instead of getting angrier, instead of unleashing the blue magic that had been bouncing in her hair, _wilted_. Under the weight of her own anger Miss Granger sagged, everything going slack and her voice turning into a whimper. "Why do you have to be so mean?"

She was off and running before he was even considering a response.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Hermione ran up to the school as fast as she could while crying, but the sobs made getting enough air much too hard to properly run. Once she made it to the school she knew she'd never make it up to the tower and so ran into the girl's lavatory and straight through a group of Hufflepuff girls, locking herself in the nearest open stall.

"Was that—?"

She heard the girls outside whispering to each other.

"It's that first-third-year, the Gryffindor."

"What happened?"

"She was wearing a dress. Could it be a boy?"

"She's eleven! It's not a boy!"

A knock on the stall. "Hey, ummm, you okay in there?"

She knew she shouldn't want the attention, shouldn't want the girls to be worried about her. But it felt so good to have them worried about her. Still, she was sobbing too much to want to answer.

"You really don't want to cry in the lav," one of the girls said loudly. A few thumps. "What? It's an awful place to cry. Who actually wants to cry next to a toilet? She should go to her dorms. Bed's the perfect place."

A more gentle voice came through the stall. "Should we get your Head of House?"

When she didn't reply, she heard them counsel behind the door. "We should get McGonagall." "Maybe one of her prefects?" "No, the head girl is good for this." "Should we stay with her?" "One of us should."

"I'm fine," choked out Hermione. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, kid," the blunt girl from before called. More thuds. "She's not! Look, I'm going to get Professor McGonagall. Stay here if you want."

Severus made his way to the Potions classroom shoving guilt away and pushing irritation forward. He was volunteering _his_ Sundays to the brat, _his_ personal time to teaching her and she dared to get angry at him? No matter his words, she should be prostrate with gratitude.

He had barely sat down behind his desk when the Floo whooshed and Minerva McGonagall stomped into his quarters with pinched expression.

"What, no hello?" sneered Severus.

"What did you do?" Minnie glared down her half-rim glasses at him. "To Miss Granger, what did you do?"

Severus sneered. "Did she come whining to you about the big, bad bat?"

"No, I wish she had." Minerva sniffed. "Miss Aster and her friends tell me she's crying in the first-floor girl's lavatory. A lavatory!"

The guilt he had certainly _not_ felt to the point certainly _did not_ get worse at Minerva's pronouncement, he determined. He simply had indigestion. And a walk would do his indigestion wonders.

He rose from his desk strode for his door, Minerva coming up behind him and eventually joining alongside him as he strode towards the aforementioned lavatory.

"Minerva, I will deal with this," he snapped. "You may go."

"Absolutely not," said the cat-Professor. "I'm certain you are the reason for the girl's state, and I will not allow you to distress her further. We both know you are not the most … comforting presence."

"She does not need comfort, she needs censure for this little fit."

"That depends on what you said to her."

Severus' stride faltered just briefly. "You know my thoughts on faith."

"And you took out your frustrations on the girl?" Minerva said. "You know better, Severus. I thought you would be more restrained!"

He glared. "There were no frustrations. I did not yell, and I did not get angry. That should be enough for you."

"That girl looks up to you," admonished Professor McGonagall. "As a professor you are responsible for her."

They reached the restroom doors and were greeted by the Hufflepuffs in question, looking anxious at the sound of sniffling that was echoing off the walls.

"Get out," Snape hissed.

Minerva tsked. "Girls, twenty points to Hufflepuff for fetching a Professor and comforting a fellow student. We'll take it from here."

One by one the Hufflepuffs filtered out, all shooting furtive looks at Snape. Good. Let them wonder at his appearance, let them fear him. Once they were gone, he moved to the closed stall and banged a little too forcefully on the door.

"Miss Granger!" He barked. "This attention-seeking has gone on long enough! Unlock the door and face your problems!"

Minerva blanched. "Professor Snape!"

Before she could remand him, the tiny girl responded.

"You're my problem!" The girl shouted.

"Then face me!"

There was a shuffling and a clink as the door unlocked before it was swished open abruptly to show a petit Gryffindor with red eyes and an angry face.

"Leave me alone!" She screamed. She tried to slam the door in his face, probably the reason she opened it in the first place, but Severus stopped it with his hand. "Stop it!"

He ignored the stirring in his heart at the desperate, tear-filled cry and instead sneered at her.

"This tantrum is to end now," he said. "It is unacceptable behaviour."

"' _Unacceptable_ '?!" the girl's face turned an angry red. "You say these horrible things and I'm not allowed to cry?!"

"No, you're not!"

"ENOUGH!"

Minerva dared place her hand on him in censure, and Severus spun from the girl and the stall door slammed behind him as she shut the door. McGonagall put herself between the two of them looked between him and the stall with righteous indignation.

"Severus Snape, you will control yourself!" he was remanded fiercely by the scotswoman. "Now, I realize both of you have had a trying morning in a new environment. I'm sure you were nervous, Miss Granger, about meeting new friends at your church. Isn't that right?"

"Y-yeah."

His ears pricked. The thoughts he'd had on the meeting today did not include how the girl was feeling. It had been assumed that this was all very normal for her and the _he_ had been the one forced to displace. A foolish assumption. Of course a young girl with her disposition would have been emotional about the strange group of people.

His mind ran through the whole encounter, including the cheery smile on the girl's face as she'd been introduced to her new fellows. Had it been perhaps _too_ cheerful? A forced cheer meant to endear her to them or perhaps to mask insecurities? Had her frantic movements not been the sign of enthusiasm, but nerves?

Then he remembered how she'd grabbed onto his hand right at the beginning, while speaking with the Bishop's wife. She hadn't explained why, and he had not pushed it as it would have drawn attention to the embarrassing situation, but could it have been she had been worried?

"So you were a bundle of nerves and Professor Snape is often uncomfortable in new situations, irregardless," McGonagall sniped sharply at him. It was deserved, making him burn in shame. "You are both obviously quite overwrought. Let's all just take a minute to breathe."

How did such simple words make everything seem more impactful? Minerva had a superpower, perhaps, but the atmosphere _did_ indeed change. It seemed acknowledging both sides as at fault led to a moment of quiet from the both of them, the kind of quiet woven with thought so thick you could grasp it and listen to it say, ' _maybe you should apologize.'_ Silence always held such thoughts for him.

"Now, let's talk about this. Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked through the door. "Would you start?"

A sharp sniffle. "I'm not a hypocrite."

Minerva looked puzzled, but Severus sighed and moved forward to the door.

"I did not say you were."

"You said I could just throw about my beliefs willy-nilly!" the girl shrieked. "I'm not like that!"

"And yet," Severus intoned, "you would not be so 'overwrought', as Minerva said, if you did not feel so"

She would have no response. Severus should have known this, should have seen it. She was but a child and her beliefs were not yet completely firm. The offer to tutor her on Sundays had been kind from his perspective as he'd seen it as a service to her – giving up the entirety of his day to teach one girl was a sacrifice on his part, and he'd approached the situation as such – and yet from her perspective it was a double-edged blade. He huffed.

"Severus!" Minerva hissed liked a cat, under her breath so the girl most likely could not hear it. A warning that his tone was becoming more hostile than he'd intended. He took a deep breath and continued.

"Am I to understand that you wish to take the additional time today to study potions but feel conflicted about whether to do so on your Sabbath is in line with your beliefs?" He listened but heard no reply. Like he could hear her thoughts, her silence was telling. "Use your words, Miss Granger. What if this could be resolved simply by asking nicely if I brew independently other nights of the week? By asking if I could—"

"I don't want to!" The girl yelled, voice echoing around bathroom.

Severus huffed again, a habit forming from spending time with the girl, and sent a look to Minerva. The tabby just sniffed at him rather than helping. There was nothing else for it, this encounter was quickly becoming uncomfortable and needed to be ended quickly.

"In skipping two years, you are _required_ to study with me," Snape warned through the door. "Do you wish to be dropped back?"

McGonagall gasped. "Professor Snape!"

"No!" Hermione threw open the stall door, this time not in anger but desperation. Her eyes were wild and wet and wide as they gazed up imploringly at him. "Please! You can't!"

Severus leant on the stall door, ignoring McGonagall's complaints in favour of focusing on the girl.

"Let me take you through what happened, Miss Granger;" Severus was calm now, analyzing things out loud as if he were making changes to a potions recipe, "the situation – a situation that I created for you – made you uncomfortable and rather than coming to me with the issue you decided that you knew me _so_ well that you didn't need to. You assumed you would be refused or perhaps you thought that I would be displeased with you, but this made the situation worse. It was your own guilty conscience that led you to this fit. Your anger may have been justified, but this …. wreck of emotions you crashed into the lavatory was not because of my words.

"Therefore you will ask me," he ordered. The girl looked confused and so he elaborated. "Ask me whether I would be willing to tutor you another day of the week."

Hermione looked up at him with those wide eyes, disbelief and worry. The act of asking for something from someone seemed to make her physically uncomfortable, a reaction he noticed in many kind-hearted people: children, Hufflepuffs, and Canadians, most prominently. There was the telltale tension in her stomach pulling her to hunch over which she countered with folding of her hands behind her back, the furrowing of her brow showing her fighting her physical discomfort mentally.

"I-I would prefer a different day," she said.

He grit his teeth to hold back the vitriol he wanted to throw at her. "I said _ask_. That requires a question."

Surprisingly, the girl didn't proudly stiffen at his tone, but instead turned herself inward and curled with her face towards the floor. It curdled in his gut, but he wouldn't stand down.

"D-do you have any other times you could tutor me?"

Acceptable. He nodded at the girl.

"Here is what we will do;" Severus began, "you will remove yourself from this stall and return to your dorm, you will change into appropriate attire for brewing, you will report to my office, and then we will begin your tutelage. However," he raised a hand to McGonagall, "next week we will change it to the day prior. And for this inconvenience you will arrive two hours earlier; simple potions such as Pepper-Up for the Hospital Wing should help you practise your skills, I should think. There are always too many students with weak constitution catching colds during the first few weeks of term."

Severus turned to leave, but Minerva halted him with a hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"You owe Miss Granger an apology."

He whirled on the woman, ready to tear into with the same vitriol he'd withheld from Miss Granger. She had no right to tell him he needed to apologize, no right! He had already resolved the issue with his student and that should be enough for her.

But as he glared at Minerva, he saw the girl behind her. The lines of tears were still on her face and she was watching him round on her Head of House with a line of worry on her forehead. Why, why couldn't he ignore the chit?

"Professor, please, he doesn't have t-" the girl tried to interject on his behalf, but he would not let himself be unmanned by her defense. His pride would be damaged by the apology, true, but worse damage would be done by having Miss Granger defend him to Minerva. The Scottish warrior-witch already looked ready to spit flames.

"No, Miss Granger, perhaps I must," he hissed, not at her, but at Professor McGonagall and the-won-the-House-Cup smile she wore. "I should not have disparaged your religion no matter the circumstances. You should not have taken such offense either, as it was not aimed at you, but nonetheless I … apologize."

He'd had to grit his teeth to keep from adding further acidic remarks to negate the effectiveness of his words, but Miss Granger didn't seem to mind his pained expression. Instead she hopped forward in her usual way. The chit seemed to withhold physical proximity from those around her when upset and then bounce back when pleased with them, as manifested within moments as the girl didn't halt her approach and instead jumped at him, arms tight as he tried to move back and her voice far too happy for his paltry apology as she practically sang, 'thank you' at his face.

If it had been directed at another member of staff, the look on Minerva's face would have been comedic to the Potion's Master. Unfortunately, it was at his expense and a little girl was to blame. He disengaged her rather too violently and rounded on her.

"Miss Granger!" he roared. Definitely roared, not shrieked. "Has your vaulted intellect left you?! Five points from Gryffindor for your inappropriate behaviour!"

The girl pulled back at the point loss, but Minerva immediately undermined him by stepping forward and laughing, _laughing_ , at his lack of composure, even comforting the girl with a hand on the shoulder.

"Oh, pish, don't worry little lass," Minerva dared smile at the girl as if she'd done something acceptable. "I believe you deserve five points to Gryffindor for sheer pluck. It takes bravery to hug a Slytherin."

He threw his hands in the air. "Gryffindor conspiracy!"

Still, despite his movements, it seemed his anger was half-hearted. Instead of arguing with Minerva, he turned his eyes to the young witch who was looking at them both with wide eyes. "We'll see if she keeps those underserved points this evening. You have twenty minutes, Miss Granger, to be in my office. One point for every minute late."

The girl took a second to process his words, but when they sunk in she gasped and ran towards the door. Once she was gone, Minerva turned to him with a skeptical brow.

He glared. "What, woman?"

A second eyebrow joined the first. "Could it be you've finally found a soft spot for children?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hmph, _soft_ , no. Miss Granger is simply competent, unlike the rest of those brats. Logic actually seems to work with the insufferable know-it-all."

"I'm certain that is the sole reason," Professor McGonagall shot him a rye smile before leading the way to the door. Once outside the lavatory, she kept up with him in his walk towards the dungeons and gave him a twinkling smile that would not be amiss on the Headmaster. "Every teacher has their favourites, you know. Best try to be fair with her, but Miss Granger could use your mentoring, and her, ah, youth – it could be enlightening. Children tend to steer straight where they're pointed and help us find our own hidden failings."

"My failings are not hidden," Severus sneered. "I do not deny that I am a disagreeable miser."

Minerva nodded, though her lips thinned. "Then, perhaps, the failing you do not see is that you refuse to behave differently."

He glared. "People do not change, no matter the girl's beliefs. Or yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a student who in fifteen minutes will no doubt lose five points for running in the halls."

* * *

Hermione felt awful. Her professor and her Head of House had both had to come and fix her crying fit, and then she'd gone and _hugged_ him in front of Professor McGonagall! She didn't regret it – hugs were important – but she still felt embarrassed by it.

So when Professor Snape took five points off for her running in the halls and sliding into his office panting, she didn't even object. He was being kind as it was.

"Miss Granger, now you will learn proper cutting of the versatile mandrake," he ordered, motioning to his station where his mandrake was already divided by the limbs. It was the torso he was currently dissecting. "In class you will use stewed mandrake – already cooked and cut into half-inch cubes – but fresh mandrake is miles better if you know how to use it properly. Mandrake is a very tough root, so the size of the cut on fresh mandrake depends on how long it will stew in the cauldron with the potion. Smaller is safer than larger, but you must still be as accurate as possible.

"Now, since the Wiggenweld potion is a quick brew, we need small, very uniform cuts of it. A moderate brunoise cut, one-eighth inch cubes, should do. Start with making a julienne with the correct diameter then cube it. Understand?"

"Ummm …" She looked around the station for anything to use, but couldn't see any. "I don't have a ruler."

Her teacher seemed confused for a second, as if thinking 'why would you need a ruler?' but then she saw understanding. He took his knife and cut a small piece off he end of her mandrake, then cubed it for her. When he had, he took a hold of her pinky finger and held it next to the cubes.

"Your pinky nail is about that size," he showed her, comparing it to his cut. "It will change as you grow, but you should be practised enough by then to create various sizes of cuts without aid by then."

Hermione nodded and then went to work. Her cuts were slow at first because she really wanted to get it right and then kept checking the cuts against Professor Snape's original cubes. She was still slicing when her Professor had gotten through his much-larger mandrake and had crushed his chizpurfle fangs. But even thought she knew, intellectually, that he was the Master and she was really new to this, but being slower than him still frustrated her.

And then his comment in the lavatory … he really could move her back to first-year. She would not only be the girl who moved forward, but also who was sent back. Double humiliation. She couldn't let him find any reason to send her away.

Severus watched the girl as she struggled with the simple ingredient preparation. While she'd performed adequately in class, it was clear then that her potion had been severely rushed in order for her to meet the class-end deadline. In here she was doing the opposite; without a time crunch she seemed to double and triple check every cut in her mind before moving on to the next; perfectionism, he observed, was one of the girl's traits.

In this regard, however, potions theory could help her.

Leaving his charge to her mandrake, he turned to another station and set out six different pint-sized cauldrons, filling them all halfway with purified water and bringing them to heat. When the girl finished her too-precise cuts of mandrake, he stirred them into the cauldron, turned it to a simmer, and led the girl over to the station with the tiny array of cauldrons.

"You are thinking of the potions too much like chemistry. It is, in a way, but it is also similar to cooking," he informed her to focused attention. "When following a recipe it is not uncommon to make substitutions, changes, or small variations so long as the integrity of the dish stands. Some mistakes are certainly unforgivable in the dishes, such as having ingredients undercooked or overcooked, mixing things in the wrong order, or completely changing the dish. However, adding a little too much salt is forgivable. Having less than exact cuts is also, provided they are able to cook through properly. The same with potions. Certain things must remain fixed to provide stability and enhance the magic of potions, but some can be allowed … leeway. At the very least until you are a Master-level brewer. Observe."

One by one, he went through six cauldrons of the standard, simple wound-cleaning potion he gave Madame Pomphrey, the one that cleaned the wound and then sealed it provided it was within a certain size of cut. All of them began with him making them a transparent yellow, but from there he drastically diverged from all of them. Cauldron one he added an extra monkfish eye which changed it from the recommended green to a teal. Cauldron two he skipped the siren grass and substituted it for a pureed mix of dittany and mint which turned it from the recommended red to pink. All the way down he made these changes, leaving the cauldrons all different colours.

Then, finally, came the final step. He motioned Miss Granger a little closer and held up six dried but still beautifully unfurled moondew flowers.

"Now, watch."

One by one, he dropped a moondew flower to rest right on top of each potion. The various colours all started to shift. Red became cooler. Yellow became reversed. Blues and teals warmed. The colours all moved together until, all at once, they ended up as various shades of purple, from boysenberry to violet.

"The colour tells you exactly what it is for," Severus told her, a smug smirk finding his lips at the girl's awed expression. "It is the colour of the magic used. Not that these potions are identical.

"The point is to be able to understand exactly what each ingredient brings to the table, how it interacts with the others, and then what the most important parts of the potions are. Each of these are a strong, healing antiseptic for minor wounds. But this one, with dittany and mint instead of siren grass, it will be cooler to the touch and will be best used with already infected wounds or even open boils. These two are nearly identical in purpose, but this one will not seal wounds but keep them clean. Useful for extended procedures or curse scars that will not heal regardless.

"These small changes do not compromise the potion's purpose," he lectured. "Instead they show your flexibility and adaptability in the case of unexpected problems. If I had no siren's grass on hand, dittany and mint are cheap and easy to procure. If I had no monk fish eyes I could always get fire salamander eyes but neutralize their fiery components with juniper bark. Being able to use what's on hand saves lives and I hope you will learn this skill instead of simply aiming for precision, Miss Granger."

The lesson seemed to take root in Miss Granger after that. She was more focused on the reactions than her cuts, and questions about the ingredients themselves peppered their brewing.

Finally, he sent her off with the assignment to read through the 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi slowly and with their lesson in mind.

"You should teach like this every class," Hermione hummed happily, accepting the assignment. "It makes so much sense!"

With a noncommittal humph, he sent the menace off to her common room and went to his own quarters, determined not to give that girl's words credence. He certainly didn't want the students running to him for explanations they could easily find in their texts or by brewing in class. No, he'd simply had a tiring day filled with too much Gryffindor-ish behaviour for a weekend. That was all.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

Hermione returned to the common room in high spirits. Not in the secular sense, like being happy, but in the spiritual sense. She was light, insightful, and filled with the Spirit. It was like being perfectly peaceful. Peaceful because a load had been lifted off her shoulders now and she felt immensely grateful for it.

Hence Hermione was disconcerted to see the chaotic state of the common room when she returned. All the procrastinators of Gyffindor were in the common room – ink, quills, parchment and books anywhere they could find space – attempting to rush through their Monday-due homework.

"Hey!" Hermione whirled around to see Fred, George, and Lee all holed up in a corner of their own, waving her over. "Spitfire! Come on, it's homework time!"

"I've already done mine," she pointed out, even as they dragged her to the corner. "I don't do homework on Sundays."

"But we're working on that 'Dangers of Transfiguration' essay."

Another red head popped up from his homework, face contorted in confusion. "But that's our essay too!"

Oh, she realized, it was Ron. The first-year who the twins hoisted her off on for the boat ride. Harry was next to him, and Neville, and they all had homework in lap.

"'fessor McGonagall assigns it as first essay every year, firsties," Lee told them with an eyeroll. "Different spells in the essay, but same general thing. She doesn't give them back though, to make sure you write the next one. 'Getting you all into a safe mindset for learning,' she says."

His McGonagall brogue was good, making everyone in the common room giggle. Apparently some other groups were working on that essay too, because they all gave sympathetic coos to the first-years.

"Wait, that means you can help us!" Ron exclaimed happily.

The twins tutted at their little brother. "And deprive you of the first essay you'll ever write for our Gryffindor Head of House? We still have our own essay to write, you know."

Hermione giggled, but moved over to the red-headed boy who looked positively shamed by his brothers. "I'm finished my homework, though. I've never been a first-year, but I might be able to help if you like."

At first she wasn't sure her offer would be well-received, but when Harry looked up at her in disbelief – a strange incredulous look, as if he didn't expect anyone to offer him help – she knew she'd made the right choice. A protective feeling for this small boy rose up in her hazardously quickly, taking her off-guard. It was born from the warm feeling she'd had since resolving things with Professor Snape, but that just let her know it was right. Confusing, but right.

"It might help me catch up in the curriculum, right?" This was directed to Fred and George, who actually looked disappointed that she wasn't coming over.

"I guess we can loan you to ickle Ronniekins for one night," Fred whined.

But George jumped in, "But we're still shouting potions questions at you!"

The twins and Lee tucked back into their homework and Hermione plopped herself down in the mandatory two feet between Ron and Harry – guys were strange. "So, the essay?"

Ron was the one who spoke, going on about how difficult the assignment was and how they were expected to know everything the first week of class, but Hermione got more out of looking down at Harry's parchment. She read his opening paragraph and frowned.

"'Transfiguration can be dangerous because you could make something you don't mean to'?" Hermione read aloud, making Harry blush furiously. "No, no, you need something better. You need a thesis statement too. This first bit is all wrong."

"I made mine about what can cause a transfiguration to become dangerous and used certain spells as examples," she informed Harry. "Like not knowing the object you're transforming, not knowing what you're turning them into, not following the rules for Transfiguration, and then not knowing the actual spell properly. Then the spells going wrong are just examples. And then I just used some of the times I did spells wrong for examples."

She jumped and grabbed a book from her bag.

"You can use the third-year book for reference, if you want!" Hermione jumped excitedly. "I think each year's text has a similar section with warnings and examples of spells gone wrong. This one has a story about a wizard who forgot that his toad familiar breathed through his skin and when he turned it into a box left the skin, but without the ability to process the air. The frog died trying to breathe as a box. And animagus transformations are terrifying! If you end up as, like a crab or an insect, and you forget that those animals don't have spine before you transform you might break your own."

Neville and Harry looked terrified now, their awed horror making her flush. _Why couldn't she control her mouth?_

"They're rare situations, though," Hermione insisted, trying to put them more at ease. "Most Transfiguration mistakes are fixable. I once tried to transfigure my dad's model plane into a bird but forgot to think of the feet, and so it ended up with wheels instead. It was kind of funny watching it slide all over the desk."

"Really, the danger with Transfiguration isn't with the small things like matchsticks to needles – anything that can be undone with a _finite,_ really – but with the larger magics. Animate to inanimate, large-scale transfigurations and vice-versa, or Animagus transformation. It's really fascinating to see how much goes into magic sometimes."

Harry nodded emphatically, but she thought she'd lost the other two boys when she mentioned the airplane. Either way, they no longer looked afraid because of the toad story and she eagerly took that momentum and put it into their essays.

"Let's get to it!" Hermione clapped.

She saw Harry flinch away from her, just a little stiffen really, and something about it made her frown.

The next hour was spent helping them with their homework. She didn't really do much because, really, they were doing fine on their own. They only needed a sounding board and some examples to help them understand.

She worked them through Transfiguration and Astronomy, but when they went into Potions she saw the shy little boy called Harry Potter get angry for the first time.

"It doesn't matter how good I do! He'll never let me pass the class!" Harry scribbled an answer forcibly, splattering ink everywhere. "He hates me!"

"He's just a little … cutting," Hermione tried to defend him. "But he's really a good man."

Ron and Harry shot her disbelieving looks.

"He tore into me for taking notes! First class! And asked a bunch of questions that weren't even in the chapter just to humiliate me in front of the everyone!" Harry's quill really splattered this time and Hermione quickly cast a _tergeo_ on his last paragraph to siphon it off. "Snape hates me!"

Hermione listened as Ron confirmed Harry's account and wondered what Professor Snape was doing it for. He was rude in class, yes, but … no, it was like her first day. He'd called her out, asked her to display her talent, and then even when she did he brought that right back down to the same level as her classmates.

Maybe he did that to someone in every class? Or year/house? But why?

"I'll help you, Harry," Hermione reassured him. "I'm sure the Professor will start to respect you if you do well in class."

"Really?" Harry looked up with wide eyes.

Hermione didn't feel comfortable making promises, but she nodded.

"If this doesn't work, we'll think of something else. But what teacher doesn't like smart students?" She smiled brightly. "Come on, we'll make this essay perfect!"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

Second week of class was better and worse than the first. The better part was they were finally using magic in class now that week two was there. The first week was mostly theoretical except for potions, so this second week they really started using wands. The worse part was that she didn't know how.

Holding a wand was so much different from casting with her hand. Too often she ended up with the same problem she had when she first levitated the paper clip: she overpowered _everything_. A simple spell to put out fires – one her parents had made sure she learned before she was allowed to cast the spell for bluebell flames, even – ended up icing over the entire desk.

"You said you knew the charm," Fred whispered.

Hermione felt mortified. If only _she'd_ been frozen instead of the desk. "I do … _wandlessly_. It feels different."

Fred didn't actually make fun of her for it, though she shouldn't have been surprised. The Twins were always kind to her. Her confession to him actually helped her because he was able to help her without it being patronizing.

Because he was a twin, Fred was able to explain how he could kind of feel the energy between his and George, and that it was really easy for him to use a wand once he'd attuned to that too. He said it should be the same for her.

It did help her to think of it like that. It was like using a new spell, she realized; using a wand was getting familiar with the magic of that wand. She was sure if she took the normal two weeks to adjust to it, she'd be on her feet in no time.

But that wasn't all! They had double Transfiguration Thursday mornings and she was greeted by the most amazing thing … Professor McGonagall was a cat! Well, she could turn into a cat. It seemed a slow transfiguration done quickly, each individual part shifting as opposed to just a complete shift one way or another. Even her glasses and clothes were part of the transformation, which she didn't understand. They seemed to just get sucked into the skin.

The rest of the class wasn't surprised and snickered as the girl gasped in awe. First years.

"Where do your clothes go when you change?" Hermione asked, first opportunity she could. "Would it work if you were wearing something like dragonhide that's magically resistant? Can you do wandless magic as a cat?"

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall looked down her stern face at her, "the Animagus transformation requires months of study and discipline. It would not be possible or practical for me to answer all your questions in one class period, nor would I – the transformation is too complex for third-year students to attempt."

 _Too complex? I can do it!_ _I like complex!_ Hermione was off to the library the moment the were out for lunch and again when Arithmancy was done for the day, reading all she could about the Animagus transformation.

At first it was interesting just to wonder what animal she would be … there were so many theories about what determines your form. Some say it is based on the elemental nature of your magic and will relate to that and your wand wood. Some suggested that the animal will almost always be one native to the environment of your birth, or one you interacted with before.

But she'd only ever really interacted with Daedalus – Hermione wasn't sure Animagi _could_ turn into a magical animal – and she really didn't know much about British animals. They had the boring ones, like horses, cats, dogs, and sheep. Maybe owls weren't magical? Hopefully that was an option. They were often associated with wisdom and intelligence.

Other countries were more fascinating though, like America with the bears and mountain lions and alligators, the African continent with elephants, antelope, and lions, and especially South America with all the colourful and crazy creatures of the Amazon.

But after so much speculation and thinking how she'd very much like to be something that could actually jump, or climb, or do all the things she couldn't do now, she really wanted to start learning how to do it. It was the same as anything else she learned, right? There was the bit about the mandrake leaf in the mouth, but then it was just recitations and practise and then a small potion. It seemed so simple!

 _I can definitely do it_ , she resolved.

It took an hour for her to outline her next month's endeavour.

First she'd need a mandrake leaf, but she had that in her potions kit. Or, well, to be precise it was in the _NEWTS_ advanced potions kit that Professor Snape had _strongly recommended_ she get. It was bigger, had slightly better equipment, and had more ingredients that she could use up in lessons. Now it had a better purpose. By Friday night she'd used a sticking charm to fasten it to the roof of her mouth and had begun to add the meditations and spell recitation to her nightly scripture study.

Second, she had to avoid eating or drinking anything magical. The sticking charm was fine, but anything else in her mouth would have negative consequences. So no Bertie Botts or other magical candies, no potions, and no magical delicacies like dragon tongue. She hadn't seen it on the dining table, but the book warned against it so Hermione still chronicled that information away.

And lastly, not to let anyone find out.

The last point only lasted ten minutes.

The Weasley twins had come to find her in the library, had cornered her with the book, and then demanded their own Mandrake leaf so they could try too.

Hermione resisted best she could. "No."

"Come on! If you can do it, we should too. Forge is great at Transfiguration."

"Right-o, Gred. And you need someone to watch your back too."

"You shouldn't do unsupervised magic."

"Always bring a twin!"

"When you're breaking the rules."

Two sets of tear, puppy-dog expressions looked up at her as the twins sank to their knees. "PWEAASE?!"

"Oh, fine!"

So they were officially in it together. Hermione couldn't help but remind them every day to say their recitations, or nag them about magical candies. It wasn't that she didn't know how smart Fred and George were, she just … didn't trust that they would remember. Hopefully they could do this.

Besides _that_ project, she also had a few new spells she was learning one her own. Defence was a class she didn't feel confident in and she hated to feed less than competent. There was only one defensive spell she'd actually used from the book – _ventus_ – because mum and dad didn't want her to hurt someone. Now she had to learn all sorts of spells like _orbis, expelliarmus,_ and _protego_. She was definitely behind in that class.

Herbology was another one. She'd learnt all the plant names, knew how to use them in potions, but she had no clue how to take care of them. She had no Gryffindors in that class with her, though, and so she was mostly alone again. She'd taken to pairing with the same Slytherin Professor Snape put her with in class. "Mister Price", as Severus called him, or Anthony as she knew him. He brought over a Hufflepuff boy named Diggory and together they made a strange trio of Houses as a group. She had all the help she needed, and it seemed that Anthony was glad for some reason to be around Cedric because he smiled a bit more around the boy.

In fact, that was one class with the Slytherins that seemed to be … calm. Pleasant, even. At least with Anthony and Cedric. Anthony took on all the more dangerous jobs for Cedric – wrangling the tenacula heads and knotting them up – who worked exceptionally hard to make up for the imbalance by taking care of not only Anthony but her.

"You're … friends, then?" she asked as they milked the tentacula fangs.

Price smirked, but Cedric laughed. "Mr. Quiet over there wouldn't say so, but he doesn't say much anyways. We got paired up in a class like this first year and we just hit it off. Price is a good sort no matter how gruff he like to appear."

"No," Anthony huffed. "You're just a kitten."

"See?" Cedric laughed. "He just said, out loud, that he likes kittens."

Hermione giggled too, and Anthony growled. "Just cause I don't kick 'em…"

Cedric directed a devilish smile at Anthony, but leaned towards Hermione with stiff, unmoving lips. "Hey, want to see something?"

Hermione nodded excitedly.

Cedric winked quickly before righting himself quickly. Too quickly. He was falling backwards, slowly, straight towards the venomous tentacula! "Oops!"

Price moved so fast Hermione didn't even see him. It wasn't even a half a second before Price had his hand around Diggory's wrist and was yanking him towards the worktable, wand out.

One murmured spell later and Diggory's hand was stuck to the bench.

"No more falling."

Cedric and Hermione shared a look and a laugh at how flushed the Slytherin looked. Cedric was right! Anthony really did care about his friend. He was kind of like Prof. Snape. How do they get away with so much unshown emotion? Hermione couldn't imagine being so tight-lipped.

Cedric was stuck there for the rest of the period as the designated notes taker, only let loose at the end when Anthony Price decided he was no longer a threat to himself.

Price put his hand on the Hufflepuff's shoulder when he was released, his face imperturbable. "Be good?"

Cedric laughed. "Yes sir. No feeding myself to the plants."

It was like watching the twins, only a harmony of opposites rather than similarities. Hermione chuckled all her way to Gryff/Raven Defence.

That was another interesting dynamic. You'd think that with how they procrastinated that Gryffindors would be the antithesis of Ravenclaw, but it seemed that sometimes Ravenclaws easily bored. They always had games or play-things ready to use, making them appealing friends to everyone. It's like they had built-in distractions. She even saw Fred and George with a pair of Ravenclaws exchanging jokes on passed notes. She sat by Tara in that class, _gratefully!,_ since the girl always had some sort of scented bubble charmed around her in that class that drove away the smell of garlic with elderflower and cherry. Although, it was kind of embarrassing how the girl had pulled her away from Fred and George to make her sit beside her.

Professor Quirrell acted … strange. He was like Neville with the stutter, but she got the idea that he didn't like her. Tara was even holding back her need to shout the answer to questions by holding her arm. It hurt a little bit, but it was true she couldn't really control herself.

But the Professor really preferred to ignore her, focusing on the Ravenclaws. Tara said that Professor Quirrell was a Ravenclaw himself so he was probably more comfortable with them.

But her favourite class was Ancient Runes. It was the class was where she got her second project (besides catching up, of course): wards. She wasn't good at Defense Against the Dark Arts yet since she was so behind in spells, but runes could be the perfect solution to impress the Professor. If she could defend herself using runes … she'd have to have a pre-made set of runes on her, somewhere … Magical theory with runes was hard to understand, though, so she might need to use one someone else had already made at first until she could understand it.

So now she had tutoring, catch-up to do in Defense, Animagus and Runes projects … Hermione was a little busy.

She was so busy with her projects that at first, she didn't understand.

"Flying lessons?"

She'd shown up for lessons and he wasn't letting her into his office. A stone-faced, arms-crossed, black-clad guardian gargoyle of his own office.

"Those are you lessons this afternoon," he informed her succinctly. "All first years need to learn to ride a broom and so shall you."

"But—"

"You agreed."

That pulled her up short in front of his disapproving glare.

"You made me responsible for your education, Miss Granger." His expression was unyielding. He didn't even shift his weight foot to foot as he stood, he was a pillar of strength, immovable. "Any competent witch needs to learn to ride a broom. You don't need to enjoy the experience, however it is a valid form a transport and will be useful for you in the future."

Hermione hadn't thought of it like that. "Like driving a car, then?"

He nodded. "It is a skill you will need, and so you will be attending flying class every other week with your first-year classmates."

It was logical, sensible, and useful. She really shouldn't feel nervous. Her fingers shouldn't clutch her bookbag tighter with nerves. But they did.

"I'm not good at sports, though," she protested weakly.

She knew it was weak, and so did Professor Snape because he rolled his eyes at her. "Miss Granger, you are being idiotic. You're not going to be in competition, simply taking a leisurely fly. Now stop wasting my time and yours and attend the South Lawn for lessons. I can bet your housemates are already there. It's usually the sole lesson they're excited for."

She didn't want to, but Hermione wouldn't say no to the Professor now. Instead she plastered on a smile and started on her way. To keep her spirits high, she skipped down to the field. It did help her feel a bit more carefree about the whole thing, really, yet when she took her spot it was still fear-inducing. She so scared of falling, and looking down at the thin stick lying in front of her she doubted it could hold her up. There was no way this could work.

"I've been flying since I was five," an arrogant voice drawled. Platinum blonde flashed in front of her as a boy sauntered towards a broom. "I really shouldn't have to waste my time learning the basics again, really. It's a shame first-years can't try out for the House Quidditch teams."

\- From PAGE 156-158 -

Their teacher, Madame Hooch, arrived. She had short grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Hermione smile to herself. She knew that would be what the teacher wanted, that's why she was already standing primly by a broom right on the end.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madame Hooch at the front, "and say, 'Up'!"

Hermione saw Harry's broom immediately jump into his hand, same as the Malfoy boy. She grimaced and tried herself.

"Up," she tried. The broom just rolled over. "Up. Up!"

Finally, she grit her teeth and really, really wanted it. It was too embarrassing to be one of the people who couldn't. "Up!" The broom landed in her hand then with a little too much force.

Madame Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Hermione cringed when Hooch corrected Malfoy, telling him he'd done it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madame Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madame Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Hermione watched in horror as Neville's shaking made his slip, throwing him off the broom. He was falling!

Hermione tried to think of something – a spell, _something_ – but she didn't even raise her hand as Neville crashed to the ground with a sickening _thump_. Neville's broom was still going, flying over to the Forbidden Forest.

"Broken wrist," Madame Hooch muttered. She looked a little pale. "Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! Leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Neville was trudged off towards the castle and was only out of sight for a second before the platinum boy who was gloating earlier burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

Hermione didn't recognize it, but it looked really pretty and golden, covered in runes. Some magical artifact?

"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stepped back to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about – up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt on his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he _could_ fly, but Hermione was angry. He was disobeying the Professor. Her wand was out in a second. "Come get it, Potter!"

Harry gave her a heart attack when he grabbed his broom.

"No!" she shouted. "You are both being idiots! Draco Malfoy, you are _not_ supposed to be flying! Give that thing here."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll get it myself."

Draco laughed and tossed the glassy sphere between his hands. "Oh really? Potter needs an ugly know-it-all to fight for him?"

Hermione lifted her wand – and, surreptitiously, her hand – and yelled, " _Accio_!"

Both boy and remembrall were tugged towards her immediately, and the class cleared out of the path. At first Malfoy tried to fly away from it, but when he realized there was no escape he redirected himself and flew straight at her. His face was nearly murderous.

"Hermione!" Harry snatched her just as Draco whooshed past them, scooping her up onto the broom with him. "We're going after him. Hold on!"

Hermione felt dizzy and did exactly what he said, holding tightly to the broom and trying to make herself as small as possible so Harry could drive.

Maybe it was because Harry was driving, but it felt exhilarating moving so fast through the air. The wind was cool and crisp and she loved how it bit at her nose when the air whipped around it. Harry whopped behind her as they caught up to where Malfoy was holding the remembrall with a horrible smirk.

"Ooh, a power-couple?" Malfoy sneered. "I'm surprised that broom is holding up your fat head, Potter, let alone another person."

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off your broom."

"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy said, looking a little worried.

Hermione clutched tight, Harry whispered, "Hold on."

They were moving forward, and like a javelin they threw themselves at Malfoy. Malfoy barely moved in time; Harry made a much to quick turn that made her wobble even as he held the broom steady. A few people below were cheering, but Hermione was worried about Harry. He could have done this without her, but now she was in the middle of it and weighing him down.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here, Malfoy," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back towards the ground.

"Harry!"

She wrapped both her arms around the broom and held on even as Harry bent over her to speed up the broom. This was faster than exhilarating, it was desperately fast. She peeked up once, only seeing the walls of the castle coming up too quickly.

"Haaaaarrrrrry!"

Then a quick swooping in her stomach, a feeling of being turned completely upside down, and then she looked up just in time to see him with the remembrall in his hand before the two of them stumbled to the grass. Harry had caught it. One foot from the ground at the base of the walls of Hogwarts.

Hermione could hardly breathe.

"That … was … brilliant!"

Harry grinned at her and she couldn't dispute it. She just needed to be able to find her stomach again before she answered.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Hermione jumped up with Harry and their smiles sank further than they had dived. Professor McGonagall was running towards them with dangerously flashing eyes.

" _Never –_ in all my time at Hogwarts –" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how dare you – might have broken both your necks –"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"

"But Malfoy –"

"That's _enough_ , Mr. Weasley. Potter, come with –"

"Me too!" Hermione piped up furiously. "I was on the broom! I'm in trouble too, right?"

McGonagall looked down her glasses at her. "Yes, you are. However, like Mr. Malfoy, I'll be leaving your punishment to Professor Snape. Potter, follow me."

McGonagall trudged off with Harry and Hermione rounded on Malfoy who was snickering loudly.

-Excerpt Ended-

"You absolute jerk!" Hermione pointed her finger at him. "Do you just enjoy on being mean? First Neville, then Harry?"

Malfoy smirked. "Only to those who don't know their betters. Like you, mudblood."

Most of Gryffindor gasped, but Hermione didn't know the term. She'd ask later.

"Oi, watch your mouth, Malfoy!" Weasley yelled.

"My better?" Hermione stepped forward. "I don't see you in third year."

Malfoy's face clouded over. "You must have cheated your way through. Dumbledore's a muggle-loving fool."

Hermione felt it before she saw it. A whoosh of magic straight from the school to them, snapping right behind Draco.

"Am I, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Headmaster seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and Hermione looked up in horror. Not only Professor McGonagall, not only Professor Snape, but also the Headmaster himself was going to know about this fight. She could sink into the ground right then.

But the Headmaster's grave face was not for her; he was looking sadly at Draco Malfoy, and the boy in question had backed up in fear at the Headmaster's arrival.

"Sir-"

"I had hoped, that Hogwarts would be a place of learning for you, Mr. Malfoy, and not simply for magic," Dumbledore gently said. "It may still be. But perhaps you require a more _proactive_ teaching."

Malfoy looked green. "Professor, I was angry. I didn't mean—"

"No, I doubt you did," agreed Dumbledore. He looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, his old eyes knowing. "Echoes cannot hold the same meaning as the words they repeat, can they?"

Hermione watched as Dumbledore regarded only Malfoy, a Malfoy who was becoming red-faced and angry at the man. She couldn't understand what was happening. _Things he repeated?_

"Perhaps, then, a learning experience!" Dumbledore announced with glee. "You will, of course, still be held to account by your Head of House, but for the meantime …"

Dumbledore turned to her, pinning her with a twinkling blue gaze. "Miss Granger, first I must grant you points for your steadfast defense of Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Some of the class cheered, but Hermione saw that the Headmaster had more to say and stood at attention.

"We placed you in third year trusting you would be a mature, hard-working young lady," he praised her, and she beamed. "May I then ask for your assistance in Mr. Malfoy's punishment?"

Hemione nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

"Wonderful!" He bounced back over to Draco, who looked absolutely murderous at what she'd said. "Mr. Malfoy, you believe Miss Granger does not deserve her advancement; perhaps you might learn some humility to attend all of her classes, sit by her, attend her tutoring session, and in essence, spend nearly every moment of every day by her side."

Gryffindor and Slytherin, Malfoy and Granger, all were horrified at his words but the magic was done. Hermione felt Hogwarts itself reaching out to her and Malfoy, pulling them together until they were clasped, Draco on Hermione's left and Hermione on his right, in an invisible tether.

"How dare you -!"

"Surely," Dumbledore interrupted, "if you think yourself better than Miss Granger you can keep up with her?"

Draco's hands gathered in fists. "Of course I can!"

"Then that settles it."

"Sir –"

"Your punishment will not extend past curfew," Dumbledore told them, "however I cannot say how many days it will last."

"You can't!?"

Dumbledore smiled at both of them. "Ah, you see, magic is a tricky thing. I believe this will last until Mr. Malfoy has learnt his lesson properly."

"But sir!" Hermione shrieked. "What about Sunday?"

Dumbledore's smile turned back into a beam. "Well, Mr. Malfoy will simply have to join you, won't he?"

Hermione shook her head. "But there are separate classes for boys and girls!"

"I'm sure a bright witch like you can think of something," Dumbledore winked. "Alright, now, as Madame Hooch has not returned, I believe this class is dismissed. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I also believe you were instructed to see Professor Snape."

Hermione tried to stomp away to her bag but found herself unable to moved more than five meters from Malfoy, who was enjoy the commiserations of his peers.

"Malfoy! Come on!"

"I don't think so, Granger," he sneered. "You'll just have to wait for me."

Fortunately, the castle seemed to know this situation wasn't her fault and when she tried to move again Malfoy was dragged after her.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself!" she huffed, collecting her bag. "You know this would be a lot easier if you'd simply cooperate. Professor Dumbledore said to go see Professor Snape, so that's what we should be doing."

"Suck up."

Her steps up to the castle were brisk, pulling Malfoy along behind her. "Hey!" A smile graced her lips. At least she had the castle making things bearable.

Still, horribly, the blonde alternated between complaining and boasting all the way to the dungeons. "I can't believe I'm stuck to such a stick in the mud. Emphasis on _mud_." "My father is on the Board of Governors, you know; he won't put up with this. I bet he comes to the school the second he gets my owl." "You're not even going to speak to me, are you? This is going to be boring." "Professor Snape is my godfather. You're going to get it when he hears about this."

Finally they reached Professor Snape's office, which she knocked on briefly before opening it wit her bracelet. She justified it as an emergency situation, and luckily Professor Snape was at his desk as they marched into the room.

"What is this?"

Hermione's reply was cut off by the irritating blonde. "You won't believe it! Dumbledore stuck us together! Indefinitely! Crazy old coot. All because Granger and Potter couldn't leave well enough alone in class."

"Stuck you together?" Professor Snape looked from Draco to her, clearly directing the question.

Hermione nodded. "Although, I think he asked the castle to do it. It's too strange a magic to be an actual spell, and the magic is definitely coming from the castle itself. And we did not provoke Malfoy! He stole Neville's remembrall when he broke his wrist and when we asked him to give it back, he jumped on his broom – against the rules, mind you – and was going to hide it! He even tried to run me over when I stopped him!"

"Liar!" Malfoy pointed his finger at her. "She was pulling me towards her!"

"Yeah, and then you turned around and went straight for me!" she shrieked. "If Harry hadn't saved me I'd be in the Hospital Wing with Neville!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both students turned to their furious teacher.

"Now," he glowered at them, "why are you here?"

Malfoy's nose turned up in the air. "We're here for Granger's punishment."

"Mine?" she gasped. "No, both of us were sent here."

"Please," Malfoy scoffed, "I don't deserve to be punished, Uncle. Being tied to this _annoyance_ is enough."

"Annoyance?!"

Professor Snape nearly growled at the pair of them. "That is quite far enough, Mr. Malfoy. If I didn't originally intend to punish you for your indiscretion, I would for your blatantly rude conduct towards another student."

There, that, at least, made the obnoxious blonde be quiet. Although his face was turning red rather quickly.

"Now, let me ascertain the facts," Severus clasped his hands. "Who disobeyed Madame Hooch and rode their broom first?"

"Malfoy."

The boy was silent, which he took as confirmation.

"And you, Ms. Granger, did cast a spell on a fellow student without supervision or permission?"

Hermione flushed. "I was aiming for the Remembrall! It was just the summoning charm."

He raised a hand. "That's a 'yes'. And Mr. Malfoy did, in fact, attempt to fly a broom at full speed at a fellow student?"

Malfoy's red face went even redder. "It wasn't _that_ fast!"

"Did she have time to get out of the way? _Without_ Mr. Potter's help?"

Malfoy was silent again, and Hermione shook her head. Severus glared at the boy.

"So, while Ms. Granger cast a charm that was not even aimed for you and even if it was would only force you to land your broom, you attempted to severely injure her."

It was a statement, not a question. Malfoy looked completely flabbergasted that Professor Snape wasn't taking his side in this and stomped forward.

"Who cares about someone like her?!"

Snape glared. "Careful, boy."

That reminded Hermione, and she frowned. "Malfoy, what you called me … What does 'mudblood' mean?"

Both men turned to her.

"It's what you are," Malfoy sneered, only to be roundly cuffed upside the head by Professor Snape. "Ow!"

" _Ow_?" he hissed, rising from his seat for the first time since they'd entered the room. " _Ow_? You use that slur here at Hogwarts where the Headmaster and every single young witch or wizard in the whole country could here of it and you dare to say _'ow'_? It's no wonder the Headmaster has decided to punish you so. Foolish boy."

"But what does it mean?" Hermione pressed.

Professor Snape hoisted Malfoy by his arm and pressed him into the chair. "It means what is sounds like – muddy blood. A derogatory word for a witch or wizard born to muggle parents. It is a word Mr. Malfoy will give an apology for which you will accept and then never speak of again."

"Apologize?" Malfoy spat. "For what?"

"For your utter stupidity!" Snape roared. "Do you want three-quarters of the school to turn on you?! Do you want Dumbledore, every Head of House, and then every parent of every student here to look at you as a horrible, vulgar boy who cannot keep a civil tongue?!"

"But Uncle, she is!"

Severus rounded on him. "She is _muggleborn_ , and that is the term you will use from this day forward. The other has been largely regarded as heinous for the better part of a decade and to use it would only bring disapproving eyes on you and your family _once again_."

Hermione frowned. There was something wrong here, the way Malfoy caved in on himself. It was how Harry acted sometimes. Like he felt ill.

Professor Snape sighed. "By the end of this you _will_ make that apology, Draco. However, let's continue. What happened after your attempted assault of Miss Granger?"

They somehow managed to almost recount the same details to the Professor – Harry pulling her with him on his broom, Malfoy throwing it away from him and towards the castle wall, Harry and her barely managing to get it in time – while Professor Snape mediated the versions carefully.

"And at what point did Mr. Malfoy call you that name?"

Hermione frowned. "After Harry went with Professor McGonagall."

"So," he drawled, "after a professor caught all three of you in the act of endangering yourselves, breaking the rules, and _fighting_ , you ignored her and started fighting again immediately after she left?"

"Yes, sir."

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Regardless of the fact that Professor McGonagall should never have left you all alone, if you were not already being punished, I would have you in detention until Christmas." He turned his black eyes on them. "I've heard enough. You were both foolish and disobedient. I will have you both serving detention with me every Saturday morning until Halloween.

"Also, because of your poor conduct, I will be taking forty points from you, Draco." Severus cut off the brat's objection with a furious glare. "Ten for thievery, ten for your flying against orders, ten for your attempt to harm Miss Granger, and another ten for the slur you used in the presence of no less than thirty other students. As I cannot separate you for even more detentions that Miss Granger has _not_ earned, you have forced me to take points from my own house. See that it doesn't happen again."

"You don't take points from Slytherin!" Draco protested. "You never do that!"

Severus glared. "And you have forced me to. That should impart upon you the severity of your actions. I am _very displeased_ with you, Draco."

Draco slumped back then, sulking.

"Now, that apology?"

Draco huffed and glared, but no words left his mouth.

"You have a choice, Draco," Professor Snape's tone was deadly, "to either do as I ask, or be punished."

Draco was silent once again.

"Fine," Professor Snape turned away from the boy. "You should be aware that Miss Granger regularly joins me in brewing for the Hospital Wing as a means to teach her Potions. Since you cannot work together, in the times when she does the fun work of potions, I'm sure you can help with cleaning cauldrons and dissecting ingredients until you can manage a proper apology."

Still nothing. Draco was determined to remain absolutely silent.

"And you, Miss Granger," Severus turned to her, "I'm not unaware that you are in control of this spell the Headmaster has placed on the pair of you. It sounds as if Mr. Malfoy will be carried along wherever you go, and not you wherever he goes."

Hermione nodded hesitantly.

He smirked. "You might want to become familiar with Madame Pomphrey sooner rather than later. There should not be a first-year girl walking into any boy's lavatory, understood?"

Hermione gasped, then nodded furiously.

"Then off with the both of you. I have spent enough time dealing with you dunderheads, and you have tutoring now."

"Tutoring?" Malfoy _haa_ ed when they left the room. "So Miss Skips-the-Year couldn't even do it without tutoring?"

She'd be laughing later.

* * *

"What is all this?" Malfoy stabbed at the parchment with his finger. "All these scratches are the same!"

"No, they're not." Juni – or Juniper, as her parents insisted people call her – Quinn was getting frustrated. "Look, let me grab you the introductory lesson and then maybe in a few session we can get back to this level, alright?"

"Is she doing this worksheet?" Malfoy glared.

She sighed. "Yes."

"Then I will be too!"

Malfoy took longer than her by far, but he did manage to find all the runes in the textbook and give a fair – but not one hundred-percent accurate – translation. He'd done the using-the-textbook-so-thoroughly-he-read-every-page method when finishing the assignment for arithmancy too. But those were the two classes she was starting nearer the beginning for, and when they moved on to classes with practical exercises the distance grew immensely.

" _Skurge!_ " Her little plate of goo shrank quickly and disappeared, earning an approving nod from Juni.

"That's the end of the second-year spells I had for you," the Hufflepuff told her. "We can move on to third-year once we get you caught up in Defense."

" _Skurge!_ " Malfoy tried again, but with no difference.

Hermione put a hand on his arm to stop him trying again, but he drew away violently. "Malfoy, relax. You're doing the motion wrong, and you have the wrong emphasis on the word."

"Wrong empha-? Granger, it's one syllable!" Malfoy huffed. "Idiot."

"No, and _rude_!" she argued. "Yes, there's only one syllable, but you're nearly skipping over the 'k' when that is the most important part of it. You punctuate the 'k' sound with the final movement, not the first one, and you send your magic out with the same emphasis you send out the sound 'k'. Idiot."

Juni slammed her books closed and started putting them away in her bag. "Okay, we're done. You two should head down to dinner soon. Or kiss. That could work too."

" _Kiss!?_ " Both of them recoiled in horror.

Juni laughed. "Well, it works in fairy tales. See you later, mini. Good luck."

It took half an hour of arguing for the unwilling pair to make it down to the Great Hall, and then Hermione realized what she had to do. It was either drag Malfoy over to Gryffindor – where he'd attack Neville, Harry, and any number of other people – or she'd be sitting with Slytherin. Before Malfoy could call to his friends or force her to the green table, Hermione made a bee-line to the third-years Slytherins and straight to the oft silent Anthony Price.

"Anthony, hi!"

The Slytherin table all turned to look at her. Most of the hall did too.

The boy in question merely raised an eyebrow.

"I guess you heard what happened in flying class, right?" she sat down next to him, ignoring the gasps from the hall and Malfoy sputtering behind her. "So I'm stuck to Malfoy now and I really don't think he should be near Harry, can I sit with you?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

Hermione beamed up at him. "Great! I mean, we don't know each other really well, but I thought, since we're partners in class and all –"

"Witch," Anthony's voice was low, but it always made Hermione be quiet since she had to work hard to listen to him, "introductions."

Then she looked at the people around him, the rest of the third-year class. It was true, she didn't know a lot of their names.

"Hello! Most of you probably know me, I'm Hermione Granger. I think I remember most of yours, but maybe we can, I don't know, get to know each other better –"

"No one wants to be friendly with you, know-it-all," Malfoy sneered behind her. The second years moved slightly over to let Malfoy in, and of course his other first-year friends Zabini and Parkinson. "Ugh, it's been such a nightmare tied to this loud, feral person all afternoon. She just won't shut up."

After all the things he'd said that afternoon, you'd think it wouldn't bother her. But being told to shut up had always been a sore spot for Hermione. Her mother and father forbade the use of such an ugly and impolite phrase in the house, and hearing it when she _knew_ she was loud but always tried to be better made her feel a distinct painin her heart. She tried to think that way, to not let it bother her, but this had been a chance to meet people and make friends and Malfoy had just insulted her in front of everyone. It was different than when he was being tutored by someone she'd already met, or in front of Professor Snape or Harry. These were people who might listen to the little blonde bully. She was so angry at him, but her humiliation was more forefront and so it was tears that came this time. But she tamped them down, not letting them leave her eyes and hiding the evidence behind her hair.

"Draco," Anthony said next to her, but it wasn't a friendly greeting. It sounded … disgusted. "Apologize."

Hermione looked up in surprise, but she found that Anthony's face gave nothing away. He looked just as calm as he did when he saved a potion from one of their mistakes, or corrected her measurements, or even when he chuckled. Anthony was really quiet, so why was he standing up for her?

Malfoy, of course, looked offended. "Apologize? For what? It's the truth. And don't you think you can order me around, Price."

"Apologize."

Anthony didn't explain his order, just gave it again.

" _N-o_ ," Malfoy mouthed, over-enunciating. "Are you thick, Price?"

"No, but you are," one of the girls at the table pointed out. "No manners in you whatsoever. You just made the girl cry!"

"I'm not crying!" Hermione protested, but it fell on deaf ears.

More voices butted in.

"You belittled the heir to another pureblood family."

"And lost Slytherin forty points … from our own Head of House!"

"And," Marcus Flint, a big, tall boy with bad teeth leaned over, "because of you, Potter's on the Gryffindor team. Wood has been claiming the boy caught the snitch five times in just the two hours before dinner."

"Potter what?!" Malfoy yelped. "That's not fair! He's a first-year! It's not allowed!"

"He's Harry Potter!" Marcus growled. "He can do whatever he _bloody_ wants! We could lose the Quidditch Cup to him because of you."

During this, Hermione tried to find Harry on the Gryffindor table and finally managed to make eye contact with the boy. He was happy, ecstatic, but when his eyes met hers it was guiltily. Probably because she was stuck with Malfoy. She gave him a congratulatory smile and thumbs up.

Malfoy huffed and slumped into his seat. "How was I supposed to know Potter could actually fly? He was raised by muggles!"

"Apologize."

Anthony brought them right back to it.

"No!"

The girls wouldn't let up though. "Why not?" "We all deserve an apology. That's more points than we've lost all week!" "Snape's going to hang you from his ceiling racks." "What does that attitude get you?"

"Don't," Hermione protested. She could see that Draco was become overwhelmed by the negative feelings around him. He _should_ apologize, but she didn't want them to make _him_ cry.

Then Anthony, again. "Apologize."

"I won't!" he yelled. "I don't care what you do, I won't apologize to this uppity little mudblood!"

That was a little too loud, especially since most of the students had been trying to listen in through their own stalled conversations. You could tell all of Slytherin and most of Ravenclaw had heard what Draco had said for the second time that day and that it was a worse word than Hermione thought it was with how the Ravenclaws – especially – shrieked in horror.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Severus Snape was on the Headmaster's left side, glowering down at his godson as the walked towards them.

"How many points did I take off last time I heard of you using that word?"

Malfoy gulped. "Ten."

"Ten more points, then, from Slytherin."

Then entire hall stilled as Severus Snape took points from his own house, nearly all eyes either on the scene or the ten rising emeralds leaving the bottom of the Slytherin hourglass.

"You disappoint me."

Draco Malfoy shrank into his seat, away from his godfather's loathing looks.

"Headmaster, clearly you can see this isn't working," Professor Snape argued, pointing between Hermione and Draco. "I can find another suitable punishment for Mr. Malfoy, but there's no reason to keep them tethered so."

The Headmaster disagreed and looked on the pair of them with amusement. "It is only the first day, Professor. Besides, Mr. Malfoy wants to join Miss Granger in her third-year courses, do you not Mr. Malfoy? Proving that a girl your age can only do the things you can too? Tell me, how was the tutoring with Miss Quinn? Did you teach her a few things? Or Miss Granger perhaps?"

Malfoy's eyes spat venom at the Headmaster, but he said nothing.

"Remember, my boy, it is up to you how long this magic holds," reminded the old man, a twinkle in his eye. "When you have learned the lesson Ms. Granger can teach you, you will be free once again."

"What can she _possibly_ teach _me_?"

The twinkle returned in full force as he motioned to the very people who'd been arguing with Malfoy before. "The same lesson each of these students have also been trying to teach you today, although perhaps not as kindly as they should. You must start to think of others, child."

Not even giving the boy a chance to respond, the Headmaster and Severus Snape returned to the High Table.

The whole table was subdued, but Anthony put his hand on the girl's shoulder in comfort.

"Thanks," she whispered.

After a few minutes of awkward quiet, Zabini had clearly decided it was enough and that he would be the one to break the awkward.

"So, Hermione Granger," he tested out the name, a mild Italian accent flavouring the words as the moved in his mouth, "that was an interesting stunt you and Potter performed in class. I've never seen two people fly so fast on the same broom."

"Oh," she blushed, "I wasn't really doing the flying. I just held on for dear life."

Zabini laughed. "It looked it, but I wondered. . . Are you and the Boy Wonder close?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. They weren't in the same classes, and she really only helped them with homework … She was closer to Fred and George, but the first-year boys were on about the same level as her dormmates.

"Maybe," she decided on that. "I think we'll be friends, but we're not quite yet. I really just help Harry and his friends with homework."

Draco snorted, but warning glares abounded to keep him quiet. Zabini, though, snickered too.

"I'm almost jealous," he admitted. "They smart, pretty girl helping them."

It took her a second, but then she gaped. Malfoy made a retching noise in the background.

"You-huh? What?" she shook her head. "Oh! Uh, I think that's because of my roommates. Tara likes to do hair. Er, did you want help too? With your homework, obviously, not your hair."

Blaise chortled. "No, _gattino_. Don't worry."

"She doesn't sound that smart right now," Pansy protested, siding with Malfoy. "How did she get moved ahead?"

Anthony was the one who replied to that. "Ask the Professor."

Eyes swivelled.

"What do you mean?" Malfoy demanded.

One of his friends – another third year that Hermione didn't remember – interjected then. "It means Professor Snape thinks she's smart. Acts like she is in class, at least. Rumour is he was the one who moved her forward."

"No way!" "Really?" Why would he do that?"

They were all looking to Hermione for answers, and she jumped excitedly. "He met with me on my first trip to Diagon Alley, and after the meeting he said he'd help me move ahead. It was really nice of him."

"No, no, he wouldn't do that!" Draco protested immediately. "He would never let a—"

"Ahem."

His expression pinched, but he didn't finish the insult. "It must have been Dumbledore. If Uncle Sev was going to move someone forward, it would have been me!"

Hermione stood, fed up with this. People who were nearby saw her hair spark with anger. "You couldn't even keep up with the basic charms lesson we had today! That was review work for me, Malfoy, and you couldn't do it! Why can't I be in third year? Why can't I just have this?"

"Because you don't deserve it!" he roared. "You don't belong in the wizarding world!"

"Oi!"

She hadn't noticed them coming. Two shotgun barrels of red were fired towards her and she was immediately surrounded by the Weasley twins. They had braved the length of the Hall to come get her. An arm around each shoulders, their hands in synchronicity on their hips and their heads cheeks to cheek planted on top of Hermione's head.

"New friend, spitfire?" George took the lead this time, which was strange, but welcome.

Fred leveled his best mischievous smile down at Malfoy. "Oh, he's the silent one from the train, George! I think I liked him better than way."

"You're really-"

"stuck-"

"with this guy?"

Hermione turned and buried herself in Fred's chest, trying really hard to stop trembling. She hated being angry. Her skin seemed to boil, her body trembled, her mind felt so guilty afterwards … almost always her magic got out of control. It was a near thing, but it left her trembling so badly she would have run away if she could. But with Malfoy attached to her … _I just want to hide_. And Fred's robes might be a little coarse and scratchy, but they felt nice and there was a friend in them.

"Spitfire?" Fred jumped a little at the hug, but Hermione knew he could feel her shaking to suppress her emotions when his arm wrapped tighter around her. "Come on, laugh it off. How funny is it that this berk believes that nonsense and still calls himself intelligent in the same breath, eh? Ha!"

It worked, a little. Hermione chuckled out one wave of her shakes.

"Harry says his face was hilarious when you tried to summon him – broom and all – back to the ground," Fred laughed again, more earnestly this time, making her giggle. "And I hear you went for a bit of a ride yourself, eh?"

"Yeah, Granger," George joined back in, "we thought it'd take _ages_ for us to convert you to the dangerous side of life. And itty bitty Harry got to you first?! The nerve of some people!"

That earned a genuine smile, although a bit chagrinned, as she came out of the side of Fred's robes.

"There you are," Fred grinned. "Now …"

Both twins rounded on the Slytherin table, but most of the snakes did not dare to antagonize the pair of Weasleys after two years of experience with the pair of them. Draco didn't know it yet, but he'd made some fearsome enemies.

"Now, you got our little friend here wrapped up in your punishment," Fred and George circled the blonde. "We spend lots of time with our little spitfire here, so we _were_ going to offer _ever so nicely_ to let you into our little group."

"But you know what, Gred?"

"What, Forge?"

"I don't think we should give him a choice."

"Sounds good, Forge."

"Oi, Slytherins!" Fred and George jumped on the table. "We come in peace!"

"No pranks!"

"Not today, at least!"

"Right-o, Gred."

The twins stood back to back, facing different directions.

"Malfoy's made himself an honourary Gryffindor!"

"I mean, he's stupid enough for it."

"So we're going to take him, 'kay?"

"All who want to keep the little twerp, raise your hands!"

Pansy and Crabbe and Goyle raised their hands, but the rest of the table either shrugged or shoved their hands far beneath their seats.

"A clear majority!"

"Democracy prevails!"

The twins jumped off the table and took Malfoy be each arm and dragged him – and by extension, Hermione – off to the Gryffindor table.

"What-? Get your filthy hands off me!" Malfoy protested. "I'm no Gryffindor!"

"And Granger's no snake," George shrugged.

"But she had a friend at your table."

"Don't you have _one_ Gryffindor friend, Malfoy?"

Malfoy turned red. "Of course not!"

Their House had seen their approach and cleared a collection of seats for the approaching escort. Harry decided to lead the brave assault on that section and sat there, opposite the empty seats.

Hermione was exceptionally grateful that Fred and George had managed to keep her ready-made tears at bay because she was able to greet the timid boy with a beaming smile. "Harry!"

"Potter." Malfoy was plonked down on the benches, looking to the Head table for Snape but noticing that even though his godfather clearly noticed his plight he wasn't coming to the rescue. "Heard you got out of detention, did you?"

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Harry said, ignoring Malfoy entirely. "I didn't know you were getting punished so bad. I thought I was getting expelled for sure, but Professor McGonagall didn't do a thing! I don't know why."

"Because you're a seeker, mate!" Fred and George grinned. "You didn't see how she looked last year when Slytherin won the Cup. Could have set fire to the sun, that look."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm glad you didn't get punished, Harry. You were very brave to defend Neville like that."

"Why bother," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

Fred and George slung themselves around him. "What was that, honorary lion? Something to say?"

Malfoy scowled, but shook his head furiously. It seemed he knew better than to insult a Gryffindor in Gryffindor territory.

"I'm sorry you got stuck with Malfoy," Harry whispered to her, probably too loudly but at least he was trying to not to say that directly to Draco's face. "It's unfair, really. You just did a spell, I'm the one who flew."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think the Headmaster meant this as a punishment for me, per se. He said it was a 'practical lesson' for Malfoy. I think he's supposed to admit, I don't know, that I'm smart? Or not dirty? Something like that?"

"Well, so long you understand I don't mean a word of it, let's get it out of the way," Malfoy sniped. "Oh, Granger's so _smart_ , she's the _purest of us all_."

He ducked under the arms of the twins and tried to make his way to the Slytherin table. He didn't make it far. He fell right on his backside as he reached the end of their invisible tether. Hermione flinched on his behalf as the Gryffindor table laughed at him. That sound was too familiar. Too much like bullying.

"Stop that," she snapped at all the laughing people. She went to Malfoy and offered to help him up, but he just snapped at her too. _Great_. "You really should have known better. Magic is about intent. It knows what you mean."

Severus was watching from the High Table as the twins dragged his godson over to the Gryffindor table and straight to Potter. It's clear the pair were using themselves as shields between Draco and Hermione and how volatile this arrangement clearly was.

"You must stop this, Albus!" Minerva hissed to the old man. "What will happen if his father catches wind of this?"

"Nothing, Minerva, dear," Albus chortled. "Hogwarts herself is the one who cast the spell. True, I may have given the suggestion, but …"

Severus ground his teeth together.

"Miss Granger has done nothing to deserve this," Minerva continued. "She was simply defending her friends."

He watched as Draco's face contorted into his father's disgusted sneer. Gods above, he was saying something foolish once again. All of Gryffindor watched as he flounced away – yes, flounced – and they laughed as he fell to his backside for the effort. His fists clenched as he watched the cruelty of public humiliation.

It pained him to see this all knowing that Draco was not a bad child, all things considered. He was a good friend to those he cared for, intelligent, and he did not have the malice in him that Lucius or his Black relatives did. He could be kind if only he wanted to be. He did better than could be expected of one raised by Lucius' antiquated ways. Yet it was the worst of him that people saw because of their own assumptions, the same ones they held for the dark Potions Master.

So he was surprised when Miss Granger turned sharply against her house in order to offer her hand to Draco. The boy, of course, rebuffed it, but the act itself was shocking enough. He'd heard the boy berate her, seen her fold herself into that Weasley boy's arms, her hair sparking with dangerous accidental magic in another fit of violent emotions that seemed all too close to the surface with that girl. He'd assumed with that violent of a reaction, the girl would harbor ill feelings for the boy. But it seemed that she ran hot in all aspects; her fury was a blaze, her pain smolder, but her kindness crackled with it too. And just as the fire in her, it was wild. There never seemed to be the same order to her feelings as there was with her mind.

An unfamiliar sense of pride swelled in his chest, but he ignored it. He certainly had nothing to do with that behaviour. Although … perhaps it was fair to say she had practised that forgiving, kind of behaviour on him. Yes, he'd let himself be proud of the brat for a moment.

"It seems Miss Granger is just the Gryffindor to help the boy, Minerva," Dumbledore motioned subtly to the commotion. "True, it would have been a mistake to pair him with a first-year, but Miss Granger seems just the ticket. A peer yet not, above yet equal. He just needs to start seeing her as a person – with the kindness that that entails – and the spell will be released. It shouldn't take long."

"I thought you did not concern yourself for _petty school rivalries_ , Headmaster," snapped Snape, still watching the scene unfold. Draco was sitting once again at the table, this time eating so to avoid confrontation and wisely keeping his food from all other Gryffindors around him. This time, the girl sat closer and tried to spark a conversation. "I thought you said they were _character building_ , and _hardly evil_."

The Headmaster frowned at him. "Can men not realize their mistakes?"

"Only when it benefits them," he mused, making Minerva sputter over her glass of wine. "So, tell me, what designs do you have for my godson?"

The Headmaster's eyes could see how tense Severus was, hands clenched, vein throbbing in his temple, his jaw so tight it could crack a walnut. He shook his head sadly at his employee.

"So quick to assume the worst, dear friend," he sighed. "Hogwarts was upset by the discord on the South Lawn today, unusually so, and I intervened. I'm aware I needn't have tethered them together, but perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps I simply wish for no child to leave this school thinking the way young Mr. Malfoy does."

"There are others who agree with him. Older students."

The Headmaster knew who he was speaking of, but refused to acknowledge it. "Not so vocally. Merely two weeks into school and our Young Mister Malfoy has become the most outspoken of them all. Perhaps setting him to rights will be enough for some of the others."

"Ah."

Severus turned to the headmaster with a malicious eye. "So, you see my godson as an obvious example more easily fixable than the others, is that it? He's to be your token gesture that you _do_ reach out to the Slytherins and the purebloods and those who live in old traditions without actually reaching out to them specifically. A blanket action to draw people over."

Dumbledore shook his head at the young Professor. "You can only do your best, dear boy. It may seem hollow to you, but one good deed a day makes the world a better place."

Severus grumbled. "It won't be a good deed if the girl is harmed."

"Mister Malfoy wouldn't—"

"Not our Mister Malfoy," Severus said darkly. "You know what Lucius is capable of."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "True, but imagine if he saw some … advantage in this situation. Especially with how vocal his heir has been towards her."

Severus considered. The Malfoy patriarch was many things, but proud was certainly a primary quality of him. His public image was important. While some of their Azkaban-avoiding ex-compatriots wouldn't let such public faux-pas affect their business with the Malfoy family – in fact they may enjoy it and further enlist themselves to the Malfoy name – Lucius also had many business partners that he'd barely kept with light-side and neutral families. Once this incident leaked. . .

Perhaps his old friend should have a warning from the boy's own Head of House.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Behold, the multiple upload! Fear me and despair! ... or love and rejoice? Yeah, that's an option too. :P**

Chapter 13

* * *

"Severus, brother."

Lucius clasped his arm and pulled the Potions Master into a brief, brotherly hug. A pair couldn't be more contrasted than them, Lucius in his pale silvers and yellows, Severus in his black. One's hands soft and manicured in wealth and the other one's stained, calloused, and scarred from his work.

Still, they were friends, and Severus was genuinely fond of the older man. He had an underlying violence that he could commiserate with, but was also a good and faithful friend.

"A school night visit?" Lucius quirked a brow. "It wouldn't have to do with Draco, would it?"

Severus gave a curt nod. "I had thought you taught him better manners, Lucius. The boy has earned the personal ire of the Headmaster."

The pleasantness sank through the luxury marble flooring as Lucius' eyes turned dark. "Come, then. We will discuss this in my office."

By office, Severus was sure he meant simply his _entertaining_ office. It had no important work, no vital information, but it had cigars, brandy, and a desk to make him seem of importance. And no dark artifacts in sight.

And … ah, yes, that's where they were headed.

When they'd sat down and closed the door, Lucius motioned for him to speak.

"You've undoubtedly heard of the muggleborn 11-year-old who made her way into the third-year class?"

Lucius nodded curtly. "Dumbledore's doing?"

"Partially, but also mine."

Lucius had his game face on, certainly, as he gave nothing away.

Severus tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mostly for my advantage, I admit. The girl has the knowledge and skills, no doubt, to be a third-year, but more importantly she's been so immersed in her own magic that she hasn't attained the stabilization of her peers and can't quite control it when she'd upset. She's never been told not to use it and so has never learned to control it properly. Having her become regularly frustrated from her potential could have been explosive. The others would have moved her forward eventually without me for that reason alone and so it works in my favour to point it out early. Put my name on the act of goodwill, as it were."

"I see," Lucius said with tight lips. "And?"

"Your son seems to take offense to it quite extremely," he pursed his own lips. "Called her a ' _mudblood_ ' in front of the whole school, twice. And assaulted her; he tried to run her over with his broom during flying lessons."

Lucius closed his eyes. It was the only sign that the Malfoy patriarch was angry. "I see."

"During all this, he also picked a fight with the both Longbottom and Potter, two of Dumbledore's favourites," Severus continued, building on the main offense with the seriousness of what happened. "And the Headmaster was paying attention enough to arrive on the scene personally at that point."

Lucius' eyes snapped up to his. "What was the punishment?"

"It was not conventional," Severus drawled. "Miss Granger being what she is – muggleborn, powerful, teacher's pet – was deemed a perfect chance to show your son his _error_ ; they are on a magical tether until Draco, 'learns the lesson Miss Granger can teach him.'"

"To a girl?!"

Severus raised a hand. "During the day. From what Dumbledore explained, Hogwarts releases them to return to their dormitories prior to curfew and draws them together when they are both in the Great Hall for breakfast. I don't doubt Draco will test Hogwarts on that, though."

Lucius snarled. "Unacceptable! What is that old coot thinking?! I will be there first thing in the morning Severus. My son will not be made to suffer such indignity."

"Steady, friend," Severus placated the man. "Yes, it's not ideal, but there is something to be gained here."

"Gained?" Lucius sputtered. "Imagine the ridicule from the other Houses?!"

"Imagine the many, many people who think your son is now a vulgar muggle-hating boy," he hissed in warning. Lucius stilled. "And then imagine where they think he learned such behaviour. You being under the imperious curse does not cover the period wherein you raised your son. The dispersions on _your_ character, Lucius, let alone his …"

The blonde patriarch sucked in a breath. "There's nothing wrong with our views."

"The Wizarding World as it is does not agree," Severus pointed out. "We lost, Lucius, and so they write the rules and the history. However, that is not the point. The point is Miss Granger; she is currently tethered to your son and is, as of right now, the best option to restore the repute of both you _and_ your son that will no doubt be damaged heavily once the hundreds of student owls arrive home."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, eyes assessing. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

 _Dear Heavenly Father,_

 _Please help me to be patient today, and to not kill Draco Malfoy. He is mean and hurtful and rude, and nothing I say can change that so can you please give me a thicker skin today? I'll try and smile it all off, but I'm going to need your help to be kind because this boy really doesn't deserve it._

 _But dad always says to be kind to everyone, especially bullies. We never know what someone else is going through. So help me be kind and obey both you and my father._

 _In the name of Jesus Christ,_

 _Amen_

Hermione shrieked when she entered the Great Hall the next morning. Hogwarts' magic rose from the stones and grabbed at her, pulling her and Malfoy together immediately. Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her again with eyes just as loathing as the previous day.

"Erm, good morning?" Hermione tried with a tense smile.

"We're _actually_ sitting with Slytherin today," Malfoy ordered, spinning his back to her. "Come on. I eat quickly and I will not be waiting for you to finish."

 _I tried_ , Hermione thought and followed Malfoy to the Slytherin table.

Anthony was there, at least, and he'd brought over Cedric to keep her company. It made Hermione laugh at how his Slytherin protector took care of her and Cedric, even taking it on himself to put many hearty helpings of eggs, oatmeal, and fruit in front of his Hufflepuff.

"Skinny thing," was his only muttered explanation, but Hermione and Cedric shared a mirthful look.

About midway through breakfast, she did realize something. "Hey, did Malfoy borrow any of our books last night?"

The third-years around her all shook their head, and Malfoy scoffed. "Why would I need to do that?"

"To do the readings for class, Malfoy," she frowned. "I know you're probably not getting graded on it, but I thought you might want to –"

"Stop right there," Malfoy interrupted, a sneer plastered on his face. "I'm _definitely_ not getting graded for this, and I'm not doing extra work just because Dumbledore is snitty with me. My father will be here either today or tomorrow and the spell will get taken off so I can finally be rid of you. Until then? You're not my keeper."

"Draco," one of the girls next to her said, "what _exactly_ do you think will happen in class today?"

The boy in question examined his fingernails. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does!" Multiple people hissed, shocking the boy out of his nonchalance. "Everyone knows why you were stuck to her, _including_ the teachers." "They're going to be relentless!" "You'll lose us points again!"

"How were you going to prove yourself better if you didn't even study?" Blaise Zabini chimed in, looking endlessly amused by his friend's predicament. "What was your plan, Drake?"

At the perceived slight, Draco upturned his nose. "It's not as if classes here are difficult."

"So no plan," Blaise grinned at Hermione. "Tell me how it goes, will you? Especially in Potions."

"Hey!"

When she looked at the situation, she guessed it was a little funny. Fred and George and even Lee had been making her feel better all last night, joking around, and now even Blaise was laughing. Maybe she should just smile. _Smile … but be kind,_ she thought looking at Draco and his perpetually angry appearance. _Cause I know it's not fun being laughed at._

"You can use my books in class, if you want," Hermione offered kindly. "My potions book is a little messy though."

"Sloppy stirring?" he sniffed.

"No," she shot back, "I write in it. When I _study_. Look, Malfoy, we could get along, you know? Do you have to make it difficult?"

He smirked. "Of course."

Hermione wanted to huff, but instead forced herself to smile and roll her eyes instead. One of these days she would get through to Malfoy. So she jammed some eggs in her mouth and went to take out a book when Anthony's hand stopped her.

"Don't."

His eyes flashed to her nearly full glass of pumpkin juice and Malfoy's too close hands, and her eyes widened.

"He-"

"Slytherin."

That one word had her close her schoolbag tightly shut and tucked under her robe. She knew what Anthony meant – you have to be careful with precious things around people who hate you. Anthony wanted to make sure she was careful today. To be Slytherin, to think everything through and see all the risks.

"I'm ready." Malfoy stood up pompously and slung his exceptionally light bad over his shoulder with an imperious look at her. "Well, come on then. Which class do you have first?"

" _We_ have Herbology," one of the other third-years said. "You want to wait a minute and leave with the rest of us?"

He sneered. "No. Come on, Granger."

Hermione made to stand, but Anthony caught her wrist. "No."

She smiled at the gentle boy. "It really doesn't matter, does it, that he wants to go early? It's not worth fighting over."

Anthony considered, hand still wrapped around her wrist, before looked at Cedric for something. The Hufflepuff gave grin.

"Sure, big guy."

Her wrist was freed and both boys rose with her, much to Draco's anger. Hermione was so happy though. She had friends that wanted to help her enough to come with her.

"Thank you!" She hugged them quickly. "If Professor Sprout's there, we can ask about groups. I might have to work alone with Draco if we can't extend our group to four. And we can pick our plants first!"

"Teacher's pet," Draco muttered next to her, and she turned to him with a beaming smile.

"Of course!" she pretended not to take offense. "It's like being a know-it-all; what's wrong with getting on with teachers or wanting to know everything?"

Draco gaped and went quiet when his insult didn't land. A hand clapped on her shoulder and she saw Anthony had put it there to comfort her, as if he knew her smile wasn't quite entirely sincere. He was right, so she gave him a sheepish grin.

Professor Sprout was indeed in the greenhouse when the group arrived, and she gave them all a beaming smile.

"Good morning! Welcome, welcome. Mr. Malfoy, I had hoped we wouldn't be seeing you today," she leveled a pitying smile at the Slytherin. "Well, no sense in dwelling on it. I daresay a little work in the dirt will help to clear any muggy mind."

Hermione smiled at Draco, trying to show she wasn't angry either, but he was resolutely looking away from her and her smile quickly fell. Oh well.

"Well, I'm glad you're here early; you can help set up the stations for today. One puffaplant per bench, please, and watch that the pods don't fall."

Hermione and Cedric jumped forward to grab the pots and start putting them on the workstations slowly so they avoided jostling the plants. Anthony moved and grabbed the right tools to set out. When Professor Sprout saw Draco just standing there, she pointed to the hose and water cans.

"We'll need those for today," she prompted the boy. "Only about half-way full. Go on, that's a lad."

Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye, wondering if the proud boy would actually listen to their teacher. It took a few seconds, but eventually the little heir dropped his bag at the closest workstation and did as he was asked. Her heart warmed. Maybe he could learn.

That opinion seemed wrong during the lesson though. He didn't want to touch the fertilizer and so only used the tiny little trough to transfer it by the tablespoon. Then he refused to wear the face mask because Hermione had told him to and then sneezed so violently most of their puffapods fell off the plant and scattered across the floor of the greenhouse where they instantly took root and blossomed.

He earned a D in class and left the greenhouses in a storm, dirty and angry.

"It has nothing to do with magic," he argued. "A Malfoy would never dig in the dirt for a living. Look at me! It's a disgrace."

"I can clean off your clothes with a spell," she offered, but was again refused.

"As if you could do it properly," Draco sneered. "These robes are of very fine quality, I'm not having you ruin them."

So she forced back the anger that was threatening to overtake her kind calm and led him to DADA and to their own desk right by where the twins sat, opening her textbook right in the middle so she could share with him.

He didn't make it through that class either. He couldn't produce the _ventus_ charm and muttered angrily about Professor Quirrell being like Neville Longbottom, since they both had a stutter. It was the first time Hermione had seem Professor Quirrell angry. He called Draco up to the front and asked if he could cast _protego_. He gave Draco a chance to cast it, but then he petrified him nonverbally and cast _melofors_ , encasing his head in a pumpkin.

Before lunch, the pair went to the Hospital Wing and had Madame Pomphrey, erm, remove their need to use the lav. Madame Pomphrey did clean Draco off as well, both of the Herbology fertilizer and the pumpkin guts in his hair.

At lunch, the twins dragged them over to the Gryffindor table again. Draco didn't know not to drink anything he hadn't poured at their home table, and upon taking a drink of his pumpkin juice grew an elephant's trunk right where his nose was. The Gryffindor table laughed and Malfoy tooted angrily at the Weasley twins, who we laughing and high-fiving.

Hermione wasn't sure it was funny to be changed against your will and then laughed at. But she knew Fred and George didn't mean anything by it. So, bravely, she took the unfinished glass of pumpkin juice (decidedly _not_ thinking about how unhygienic it was to share cups) and took a large gulp.

"'Mione, wait!" Fred didn't stop it in time.

Her nose grew out painlessly (she'd been worried they'd hurt Malfoy, so she was glad to realize they hadn't) and she had an elephant nose to trumpet as well. She laughed at all their stupefied faces even though it came out as a noisy honk. Fred and George lost it then, laughing their heads off.

"Spitfire can prank too!"

From the Head Table the staff watched the scene play out cautiously. A few of them wondered whether to step in when the young Malfoy was potioned unknowingly, but Albus stopped them and they all watched the scene play out.

Severus couldn't believe it. He had expected, of course, for the twin pranksters to avenge their friend. He was carrying various potions in his robes to help with Itching Powder, boil hexes, and other standard but painful prank fare. An elephant face was a new one the pair must have found or made on their own.

He hadn't expected Granger. First his godson became a figure of mockery again as he grew a snout down to his chest, but then, in the ultimate reversal, social justice-Granger made an appearance and _she_ downed the prank potion too. Attention was diverted from Draco and suddenly those who were laughing _at_ the Slytherin were laughing _with_ the trumpeting girl. She'd taken all maliciousness from the joke.

"I'd say she is the perfect person for the job, isn't she, Severus?" Dumbledore twinkled at him.

And Snape couldn't say the old man was wrong. This was the second time Miss Granger had kept his godson from being mocked, and he could see the touch of relief in Draco's posture, relief and a smidge of (most likely confused) gratitude to the girl. It was a start.

Perhaps by tomorrow his godson would be ready for his father to arrive. If the foundations were set for his doubt, then the words of his father might make the boy genuinely sorry for his behaviour. He could only hope it went to plan.

He himself almost smiled when the girl grabbed an apple with her trunk and offered it to Draco, only to chuck it at the twins when he refused. Yes, it might actually work.

* * *

After a full day of trying to do the right thing, Hermione was getting very tired of being nice. Every time she tried to be kind to the Malfoy heir she was either ignored, rejected, or mocked. Lunch had been a change of pace (although the elephant nose might have prevented any insults), but the second they entered Potions it was back to more of the same.

Professor Snape had helped some by choosing a potion they'd done in their previous tutoring session as their potion of the day, but Malfoy insisted on doing nearly everything and even tried to tell her the colour was off because of something _she_ did. It was the only class he didn't mess up spectacularly, but he still couldn't keep his tongue quiet and kept insulting her. She would have been in tears if Professor Snape didn't intervene and verbally eviscerate his godson. That helped a little.

Of course Malfoy was nowhere near her level in charms and ended up setting her robe on fire (thankfully not her hair), and then in Runes their Professor clearly had decided not to treat Malfoy any differently then the other students, with all the expectations that came with it for the difficult subject. He was assigned the seat next to her that Cedric or Tara normally took at the back of the class and forced to work with her on the translations. Professor Babbling also took points from him for not doing the reading and then for every answer he got wrong in class.

All in all, Slytherin were down 70 points in one day thanks to one Draco Malfoy.

The boy in question was seething, and she was unlucky enough to be tied to him. Hermione wanted to avoid his insults and so she left the class as quickly as possible, being the first out the door and dragging the whiny boy behind her as she hurried to the Great Hall for dinner.

"I missed all of last weeks classes, I can't be expected to have that assignment ready by tomorrow!" He was stomping towards the staircase behind her. "And so what if I got a few wrong?! Runes have nothing to do with the power of your magic!"

"Charms did!" she snapped, fuming. "Why don't you just admit you're not ready to be a third-year?!"

"You can't speak to me that way!" he yelled. When she didn't respond, she heard him come up behind her. "I'm speaking to you! I said, –" He shoved her, and she stumbled forward, "you can't–Granger!"

He had shoved her too close to the staircase … and the stairs weren't at their level yet, they'd only just begun moving towards the landing! She tried to catch herself on the stone bannisters on either side, but she really was too clumsy and skidded right over the edge.

"AAAHH–ugh!" Hermione was yanked short just a few feet down. Hogwarts had tethered her to Malfoy, and Malfoy was holding on for dear life above her, trying not to get pulled down too.

"Malfoy, please, please, don't let go!" she cried, turning in the tether to look up at the red-faced boy. "Hold on!"

Below them, her scream had attracted the attention of multiple students who cried out in horror. That was nothing compared to the fear she was feeling. She was too high up with nothing but stone underneath her. She tried not to look down, tried to look only at the red-faced Malfoy. Another few third-years from their class were now holding Draco in place too, determined not to let her fall either.

"Someone get a Professor!"

A few tried to reach her, but she was too far away. Every failed attempt made her cry.

"Hey, hey, don't cry, we're here to help," one of the third years promised. "We're going to levitate you up."

A few third-years finally got their wands out and cast the spell, bringing her upwards. But she was swaying in the air and felt like she was falling again. She panicked, flailing her arms.

"Wait, don't!"

Her panicked struggling made them drop her again, and she let out another piercing scream. She was so glad the Hogwarts staircases had stopped moving when she fell, because she didn't want that giant stone piece coming at her right now.

"Hermione!" Cedric was above her now, trying to smile comfortingly. "We can levitate you, but you have to stay calm, okay? Can you stay still while we try again?"

Hermione nodded. This time she remained still as she could, but her crying did shake the spell a few times and she had to try very hard not to panic when she dropped a few inches. The set of third-years managed to lift her up and over the ledge. She landed on her feet, but was shaking so badly her knees gave out and she crashed onto the stone floor. Cedric was next to her in a second, his school robe and arm around her shoulder as he tucked her close. Tara came to her other side, stroking her hair and whispering comforts to her.

"It's okay, you're safe, you're okay now."

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!"

Professor Babbling arrived on the scene and saw a few third-years still holding on to Draco Malfoy, a shaking and pale Miss Granger on the floor, and several horrified students.

"Malfoy pushed her off!" "She nearly fell!" "He tried to kill her!"

All the third-years who had seen the incident tried to speak at once, but Professor Babbling cut the off and came to Hermione's side.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Her voice was gentle.

"Yes-s, ma'am," she sobbed. "I just can't s-shaking, I'm-m s-sorry-y-y."

The Professor's eyes narrowed. "Don't apologize for something that was not your fault. Now, what happened from your perspective."

"He d-d-didn't _try_ to push me off-ff," Hermione quickly said. "H-he was just-t angry, and shoved me a li-li-little. We we-were just too close to the stai-ai-airs. I'm-m lucky we we-we-were tethered-d. I could have _died_."

Professor Babbling summoned a handkerchief for her and Hermione gratefully wiped her face and blew her nose. She still couldn't stop the tears, but her shaking was going down.

"You would not have," Professor Babbling reassured her. "The staircases move in a pattern, meaning you would have only been dropped a single floor. You would have been injured, yes, but Hogwarts herself would have caught you. No one has died falling from the staircase in a hundred years. There's a dear, it's alright.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Babbling stood up and looked over to the extremely pale blond, "is her account the truth? You were angry, and _accidentally_ pushed Miss Granger off the edge of the staircase?"

The entire third-year class rounded on him and Draco nodded, face nearly as pale as Hermione's and nearly as shaky.

Professor Babbling's eyes narrowed. "It seems that you can't stop yourself from nearly harming Miss Granger. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, the staff were told about what happened in your flying lessons. For the second time in two days, you've nearly sent this girl to the Hospital Wing!"

Hermione had forgotten about the day before. She hadn't been dangling off a ledge, but he had tried to run her over with his broomstick. The Professor was right, Draco really had done this twice in two days, just because he was angry. She shuddered and buried her face in Cedric's shoulder.

"This is a serious matter. We will be heading to the Headmaster's office where he and your Head of House will decide what to do. Come along, young man."

Cedric protested, "Hermione's not ready to move, yet, Professor! She's still shaking like a leaf."

"I'm ok-okay now," she sniffled.

Professor Babbling rubbed her forehead. "This tether business is an annoyance. Miss Granger, can you try and stand for me?"

Hermione clutched the robe around her shoulders and wobblingly rose to her feet. She tried to return Cedric's robes, but he stopped her.

"You've been through a shock," Cedric told her, "and you're going to start feeling really cold soon. You can give them back later."

Her eyes teared up and she gave a wobbly smile. "Thanks."

Professor Babbling stepped next to her and had her grab onto her arm, despite protests. "I will not have you fall once more. Now, Mr. Malfoy, you will follow."

Hermione was more cautious when they stepped onto the staircase this time, but since the Headmaster's office was in one of the highest towers, they had no choice but to use it. All three of them were too quiet on their trip to the griffin statue, so quiet Hermione jumped a little when Professor Babbling said the password, "Jelly Beans."

Headmaster Dumbledore was behind his desk with a half-measure of his usual twinkle.

"Ah, welcome," he extended his arms widely as if it truly were a welcome visit and then motioned them to sit down. Draco sat in the furthest spot from her. "I heard there was some commotion at the staircase?"

"Headmaster, Mr. Malfoy is a danger to Ms. Granger," Professor started in without preamble. Draco flinched. "His temper has nearly sent her to the Hospital Wing twice now, and had they not been tethered she would have broken her legs or arms falling from that landing! His temper had him push her off the staircase landing on the fourth floor! You must let the girl go free!"

The Headmaster only extended his hands. "It is not in my control anymore, Bethsheba, but Hogwarts'. I'm certain the school with make sure Miss Granger does not come to any harm.

"But," the Headmaster raised a hand to the fuming woman, "you are right that this is distressing news. I had hoped, Draco, you and Hermione here were starting build a rapport. Did she not take a prank potion in your defense at lunch?"

Draco looked away resolutely, not speaking, and Hermione's heart sank. She didn't like the boy, but he was still pale and miserable-looking. Why wasn't he speaking? And why hadn't he said sorry yet? If it was an accident, shouldn't he have apologized?

"I'm calling Severus," Professor Babbling announced, going for the floo. "He seems to care about these two."

Within minutes, the dark Potions Master slid gracefully through the floo and was standing in front of Hermione with a bar of chocolate.

"Eat," he commanded. When she hesitated, he growled, "It's for shock, Miss Granger. Eat it."

Hermione complied then, ignoring her parents' rules about candy and placing two pieces of chocolate on her tongue.

Then Severus rounded on Draco, who looked even more pale.

"That is twice now, Mr. Malfoy," his voice skated over them icily. "I was under the impression you were raised a gentleman, not an abuser."

Hermione and Draco gasped together at the harsh wording.

"Severus –" Dumbledore gently interjected.

"Harming someone who cannot get away is the definition of abuse. Miss Granger has never raised a hand to you and now you've done so twice," Professor Snape glared down at the boy. "If she weren't tethered to you, I would have you in detention until December. As it is . . ."

"Severus, it was not done intentionally," Dumbledore argued softly, earning a disbelieving look from Draco. "He simply needs to be taught self-control."

Professor Babbling interjected now, "This is more than a fit of temper, Albus, this is a repeat issue! It has very nearly caused harm, twice!"

"He needs to realize actions – intentional or not – have consequences!" Snape shot back angrily. "Next he'll be leading her out to the Forbidden Forest on a full moon!"

"Severus—"

"Professor?"

Hermione meek voice broke through the rant Severus had started and he looked down at her, looking so childlike in too-big robes, with candy in hand and eyes wide and afraid.

"Yes?"

Hermione didn't want to sound whiny, but she was exhausted. First from trying to be nice all day, and then from nearly falling off the staircase. She really didn't want to listen to them arguing or spend any more time with Draco Malfoy. So she'd ask. "I don't want to be here. Can ... Can I drop Draco off at Slytherin?"

He sighed. "Ms. Granger, once we are done here I will escort the both of you down to the dungeons to deposit Mr. Malfoy so he does not bother you this evening. But he has to be here so we can decide on a punishment."

"I didn't do it on purpose." Draco had finally spoken, and it sounded a bit whinier than it did penitent but still in a submissive whisper. "Granger told you, it was an accident."

"Good," Severus said to the still shocked boy, "because if it had been on purpose you could have been suspended, or even expelled."

Turning to the Headmaster, Severus made his proposal. "I will assign him more detentions once the tether is broken, but for now he is on restriction. Aside from meals and classes he will be confined to Slytherin House, and if he _needs_ to go anywhere else he will be escorted by a prefect, who will also sit with him at meals. Is that agreeable, Headmaster?"

Severus was mildly insulted at how relieved the Headmaster looked. What did the old man think he would do? String him up?

"That sounds fair. For how long?"

"A week, or however long this tether last, whichever is longer," he informed them firmly. "For now, I have a Slytherin who needs to get to his common room. He will be eating there tonight."

He snatched up Malfoy by the back of his robes and pulled him to his feet. Professor Babbling came to Hermione's side and offered a hand up. She wasn't wobbly anymore, but she gave her a tired smile anyways.

"After you drop off Mr. Malfoy, don't forget to come to dinner," the Professor said. "You need food and rest after an ordeal."

"It was just a _little_ scary," Hermione said, embarrassed that she was making a fuss.

"It wasn't just the fall that was an ordeal today," Professor Babbling pointed out slyly. _How did she know_? "Food and some time alone, I think, or quiet time with friends. That's the ticket."

"Thank you."

Professor Snape escorted the pair of them to the dungeons, and Malfoy didn't say a word. Maybe he felt sorry? But the tether was still there and he hadn't apologized to her yet. She didn't know how to feel.

"'For the whole'," he said to the wall. Bricks folded out of the way similar to Diagon Alley and opened the door to their common room. He looked down at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, a meal will be sent up shortly. Eat it, and then go to your dormitory. You are confined there for the rest of the night."

"Yes, sir."

One person shorter, the group made their way to the Great Hall. Cedric's robe was dragging behind her so she took it off her shoulder finally and twisted it around her arm to roll it up.

"Are you steady now?" Hermione looked up at the Professor's grave face. "You needn't eat in the Hall tonight. You could be permitted to take your meal elsewhere."

"I'm okay."

He could see how tired the girl was. While she was still a child with more energy than himself, the regular spark he'd seen earlier that day had dimmed. It was aggravating for him to know his godson had done this. Another visit to Lucius was in order. And his mother.

Hermione normally was okay with attention – she liked it too much, sometimes – but this time it was because she'd been hanging hundreds of feet in the air and she hadn't managed to catch herself, so she shrunk for a second before she realized Professor Snape was walking confidently away from her and up to the Head Table. Imitating him, she strode with confidence over to the Hufflepuff table and to Cedric, who stood up to see her.

"Here," she pushed the robes back into his arms with a tired smile. "Thanks for letting me borrow them."

"Aw, kiddo, I'm just glad you're alright," he ruffled her hair. "Did Dumbledore let you go?"

She shook her head. "But I do get the night off! Anyways, I better get back to Gryffindor. Thank you, Cedric."

Ten at the Gryffindor table she was set upon by a pair of twins, her dormmates, and Harry and Neville.

"Spitfire! You're alive!"

She shook her head at their silliness. "Of course I'm alive! What did you expect?"

"We heard Malfoy tried to kill you!" "Did you really fall off the Great Staircase?" "Are you alright?"

It was a group hug all around her and she was beginning to get suffocated.

"Everyone, I need to breathe!" She called. The group pulled away enough for her to breathe freely. Then she gave a tired smile. "Can I have dinner? I can tell you the story once we've all sat down."

Over her favourite mashed potatoes and gravy she told them the short tale of her falling of the fourth floor landing. She had to reassure them that Draco hadn't done it on purpose, and how their tether had actually saved her, but even then the group was very angry at the young Slytherin.

"That little snake." "What should we do about this?" "How long will this go on, you think?" "He needs to learn he can't treat people this way!" "We've got this prank we've been meaning to try. "We should …"

Hermione had very little filter on a good day, but she was intensely tired and frustrated. The food warming and filling her up helped some, but still she couldn't stop herself. They were all talking between themselves about how to hurt Malfoy and she hated that.

"Can you just stop?" Her snotty side was coming out, and she could see everyone look surprised. Their conversations between themselves stopped for a second. The twins' blue eyes were on her, especially, looking worried. "I don't mean to be rude, but you are _not_ helping Draco and you're _not_ helping me. You keep focusing on how terrible this is and not on how you can actually _help_. I don't appreciate it."

Fred and George looked between themselves then down at her. "'Mione—"

"No!" she shouted. Her hair was sparking purple and the twins' eyes widened. "This is what I've been doing all of today and I'm tired of it! I'm tied to Malfoy because he hurts people, and you are all talking about hurting him back! It doesn't help anyone! Draco's been mean _all day_ and I've had to be kind and happy and pretend it didn't bother me, but I'm too tired to let you all act like him right now!"

The whole Great Hall was listening in now, and she had tears coming to her eyes.

"Why can't everyone just stop?" she cried. "Why can't we try to be kind? I don't want to be the only one trying!"

The food plates exploded around her, covering most of the Gryffindor table with their dinners.

Hermione was mortified. She shouldn't have come into the Great Hall. She should have taken up Professor Snape on his offer to eat in the Common Room. Now she was angry, and she hated being angry at people because she lost control like this. The girls were shrieking about their hair and clothes, the guys looking downright frightened.

So she ran out of the hall.

Severus watched from the Head Table as the girl blew up the food and ran from the Great Hall with the Weasley twins in hot pursuit. He glared at the Headmaster.

"See that?" he hissed. "That is an eleven-year-old that you've made cry."

Dumbledore shook his head. "That's not what I see. Widen your gaze, Severus."

He humphed, but did. The Gryffindor table – the ones that had looked murderous before Miss Granger came into the Hall – were now subdued and decidedly not angry. In fact, they were looking at each other with a new curiousity. The other houses in the Hall were looking around at each other and the Slytherins were squirming in their seats. True, there were those who scoffed and scorned the outburst from the Gryffindor girl, but many students looked downright uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable with a different perspective on their normal, vengeance-seeking thoughts.

"It looks to me like Miss Granger, even when angry, says some fascinating things," Dumbledore waved his wand and the Gryffindor table was returned to its previous state of order, minus the food – the elves would bring the extras up in a moment. "What a wholesome message: what would happen, indeed, if all the world chose to be kind?"

"You have been sucking too many lemon drops."

Hermione didn't get far before the twins caught her. They coaxed her down to the Black Lake with a few smiles and soft words

When the three were planted on the shore, then she pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into herself.

"That was _some_ magic you did in the Great Hall," George sniggered.

"Oh, yeah—"

"We've tried to start a couple food fights –"

"But blowing up the food?"

"Much more efficient."

Hermione screeched into her knee, stopping them. "I didn't mean to!"

"Well, yeah," Fred patted her shoulder. "That's what 'accidental magic' means."

"And you've had a pretty good reason for it."

Fred and George both put their hands on her head, rubbing her frizzy hair. "You know, not all of us –"

"Wanted to prank Malfoy –"

"To be mean, you know."

She looked up at their earnest blue eyes and some of her anger pulled back. "Really?"

"Really!" Fred twirled around so he was in front of her and peered at her. "It's like this;"

"Doesn't it mean we care –"

"If we want to go to war –"

" _For you_?"

Hermione couldn't say anything to that. Both boys were being so kind, coming after her and sitting with her. She didn't really believe they were mean, but she didn't understand how they couldn't see when they crossed the line with people.

"Hey!" Fred snapped his fingers and pointed out to the Lake. "Want to see something cool?"

The twin waved his hand at the grass and didn't even whisper and incantation.

Hermione watched in fascination as several pieces of grass grow and entwine, flowing together until they made legs, arms, a tail, and finally a head. Everything closed together and wrenched free of the roots beneath it and stumbled forward.

The grassy doll trotted around her and even gave a silent whiney. She looked between it and Fred in awe.

"That's amazing!" she squealed, holding out her hand for the little centaur. It leapt up into her palm and nuzzled against her thumb. "And so cute! How did you learn that spell?"

Fred and George leaned back on the grass, the very picture of nonchalance. "We've been doing stuff like this for ages. The animated ones don't last long, but if you're just making a doll or a ball it's fine. We used to make them for our little sister, Ginny, when she was little. I think we all had one piece of magic we could do wandlessly when we were kids. George was good at making his least favourite foods vanish."

"I vanished yours too," George protested. "Neither of us like mushy peas."

"Yeah, well, you were naughty for doing that," Fred teased, then grinned up at her. "But yeah, most kids grow out of their accidental magic, but George and I just kept doing the same things so it stuck. That's all I can do without a wand, but I just thought you'd like so see us do some wandless too. I admit, part of it is to show off, but did it cheer you up?"

Her chest still felt raw and open, like anything could fill her up and set her off balance again, but for the moment she was alright.

"Thank you, guys," she smiled at them. "And I'm sorry I yelled at everyone. I know you guys aren't mean people, but sometimes …"

Fred gave her a sour look. "You're too kind to that git, you know."

"Fred," George warned.

Fred propped himself up. "No, seriously. He sent you off a staircase today – shouldn't you be mad at him?"

Hermione thought about it, but she really didn't feel angry at him. Draco's face had been so pasty and shocked, she had mostly felt helpless. She just didn't know what to do with him.

"He's mean," she admitted to herself, "but he doesn't know better. I feel … sad for him. Do you remember him smiling at all since the start of school? A happy smile?"

Fred and George looked at each other and thought, simultaneously, that they hadn't. They seen him smirk and sneer, but not smile. Not that they'd paid attention, and he certainly could have in private, but if it was true then that … that was sad. Hermione was right. They both looked up at the girl who had been so upset that she'd blown up the food in the Great Hall, and yet still had it in her to feel sorry for such a boy as Draco Malfoy. They remembered the first day they'd met and how she'd told everyone who said anything bad about them that they were nice.

They knew they were pranksters, that no one took them seriously, but sometimes they wanted people to and Hermione Granger just _knew_ that. Both of them felt desperately fond of their little spitfire.

But they were boys, and they were young, so they just laughed it off.

"You know, you got a point there," Fred grinned.

George nodded. "Looks like we have a new mission: The Hunt for Slytherin Smiles."

Hermione went to bed that night extremely fatigued, but feeling better. She'd had an afternoon with the twins, and then the girls in her dorm had talked with her, and then she'd said a quick prayer before bed because her eyes were already closing. Maybe tomorrow Malfoy would be nicer.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

* * *

It wasn't to be. Draco met her in the Great Hall with a group of his friends – Vincent, Greg, and Pansy – and a sneer.

"Took you long enough," he sniffed. "You could at least be on time. We're sitting with Slytherin."

"Good morning to you too," she sassed, moving past the blond and to her usual space at his table. "Good morning Anthony."

The silent Slytherin nodded in acknowledgement and surprised her by looking her up and down and then in the eyes, the same way Fred and George did to make sure she was alright.

"I just needed a good cry, yesterday," she told him a little too brightly. "'Tears wash away the dust of the every day', you know."

Anthony looked exasperated with her, but his smile showed differently. Breakfast was off to a cheery note.

The room slowly filled with students and food arrived on the table. Hermione scooped some eggs and fruit onto her plate with a bit of toast. She did have a weakness for scrambled eggs, she knew, but it was one of the dishes Hermione liked so much she made it for herself when hungry.

Then, from the entrance, a stately couple glided in as if on a breeze. At the head was a man that could not be mistaken for anyone but Malfoy's father. Blonde hair, aquiline features, grey eyes that seemed to find her even as he walked to the front of the hall. Then a woman of just a great beauty followed.

All conversation stilled and the students turned to stare at the visitors.

"Malfoy …?"

The blonde twit smiled with manic glee. "Told you my father would hear about this. It won't even last two days!"

Hermione could only watch on in dread. She wanted to be free, but she also didn't want to be at the end of the Malfoy father's anger. He did _not_ look happy and her instincts told her that when Malfoy's father wasn't happy, other people suffered.

"Lucius!" Dumbledore rose with arms wide and welcoming. "Narcissa! Wonderful of you to visit Hogwarts today."

"Yes, I wish it was under better circumstances," the man called Lucius said. "You must know why we are here."

"Of course, of course," Professor Dumbledore made his way around the table. "Let's go discuss things in my office, yes?"

Mr Malfoy declined. "Unfortunately, this is traditionally done with an audience."

He turned swiftly to the Slytherin table. "Draco! Attend, and bring your … classmate."

Hermione jumped up even before Draco did, determined not to be dragged across the Hall to the spoiled boy's father and seem reluctant. She even beat Draco up to the front where she promptly bowed her head to the blonde man and offered her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Malfoy," Hermione said quickly. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm sorry our fight brought you all this way."

Surprisingly, the man gave a small smile and took her hand in a brief, formal clasp. No shaking or kissing, but it was enough. He motioned to his wife, who also clasped Hermione's hand.

"Miss Granger," the Malfoy patriarch greeted, "I have come today to offer you my apologies on behalf of my heir."

The sparse murmurs halted and the Great Hall went completely silent. You could have heard a pin as silver as the man's eyes drop to their feet as the whole room quieted.

"Father?"

Malfoy Senior turned to his gobsmacked son and glared. "You will be silent, Draco."

The boy's hanging jaw snapped shut instantly.

The piercing silver eyes landed on her again. "I understand you have been insulted and grievously assaulted by my son. As his letter made clear that he has made no attempts at amends, it falls on me to see to your restitution."

Hermione didn't know what to say. But her mouth never had a problem finding things regardless.

"This sounds very … official," Hermione said, confused. "What do you mean? Restitution?"

Dumbledore came forward then and rested a hand on her, making her cringe a little to the silver-eyed adult's amusement.

"In some circles, if harm is done and there is a clear party at fault, recompense is expected," Headmaster Dumbledore explained. "Mr Malfoy is offering to compensate you, Miss Granger, and doing so publicly is a tradition to ensure fair treatment of both sides."

Hermione's jaw dropped. What? They were going to pay her because she'd been insulted? Or was it because of the stairwell incident? So … strange! Normal people just said sorry, didn't they?

"No, it's okay!" Hermione told Mr Malfoy hurriedly. "No one was hurt. Honestly, sir, I don't need anything like that!"

Lucius Malfoy harrumphed, eyes narrowed. "You were fortunate not to be injured by my son's actions, Miss Granger, and only that fortune saved demands our penance. Since you do not have a specific request, I am glad I already asked Professor Snape what you might enjoy in advance.

"I understand you have a kitsune familiar," he continued. "And I have also heard you have a love of literature that propelled you forward in years?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione blushed.

Narcissa gave the girl a pleasant smile. "Would you mind having a house-elf bring your familiar here? It has been a while since I've seen a kitsune."

"Certainly," the Headmaster answered for her, sending a house-elf off and having it return in moments with a squirming familiar. "There we are."

"Daedalus, come here," Hermione opened her arms and received the ball of fluff and mischief in her arms. "Mr and Mrs Malfoy, this is Daedalus."

Narcissa pet the creature sweetly and produced some berries for it, earning licks of affection from his scraping tongue. "Aw, such a darling. How old?"

"He's just three years old," Hermione grinned happily, but warily. Draco was still scowling on the edge of her sight. "Why did you want to see him?"

"Oh, I love kitsune," Narcissa said. "They are such magical creatures and so misunderstood. And I wanted to see the little thing I'm giving a gift to."

She turned her eye to the house-elf. "Elf! There is a small crate being delivered to your kitchens currently containing two dozen emperor geese, gifts for this precious little creature. Do not feed them to him all at once; we don't want him getting too fat. Variety is a necessity in diet."

The elf nodded furiously. "Yes, Missus. I wills make sure."

Being dismissed, the elf left and took Daedalus with him.

"Thank you," Hermione said shyly. "That was a very nice present."

"Think nothing of it," Narcissa smiled. "It's not your only gift."

Lucius Malfoy then took from his pocket a small wooden box, and it grew, grew, grew. It was a chest, like the one Hermione's mum and dad had at the end of their big beg that held all the extra blankets and pillows and sheets. Only this one was so … beautiful. It had multiple tones stained onto the sturdy wood and a lavish fastening that reminded her of old fashion keys.

"Oh," she gasped. "It's beautiful."

The parents looked at each other with sardonic mirth. "This is simply the container, Miss Granger. We have placed within a collection of books about subjects either absent or sadly lacking within Hogwarts; magical theory, spell creation, languages, alchemy, magical law, and some further subjects necessary for your inclusion in this world."

The Headmaster stepped forward then, his eyes wary but his smile kind. "Of course, we'll need to search it to ensure nothing … restricted for her age has made its way in."

Lucius sniffed and raised his nose haughtily. "Your Potions Master has already done so. Do you doubt him?"

Eyes turned to Professor Snape at the Head Table, calmly sipping at his tea. He made no move to get involved, but apparently the Headmaster as satisfied by … his tea drinking? Dumbledore relented then, giving a nod of approval.

"Good. Your hand then, please, Miss Granger."

Hermione proffered it again and was promptly pricked by the latch on the box.

"There. It will only open for you," Narcissa Malfoy leaned closer. "Don't open it now, though; see, the chest isn't just filled with books. You'll want to keep it a secret, understand because it has a ladder to take you down to a small sitting room. A hiding place, if you have such a need."

 _Do all rich people apologize like this?_ Hermione couldn't believe this. "Are you sure, Mr and Mrs Malfoy? It's too much!"

"No, it is not," the elder Malfoy said, his cane banging on the stone floor. "We have brought up our son to be a gentleman. That he has abandoned all those lessons upon entering school is a shame on our family and must be rectified."

Lucius looked around a moment and then nodded at the Gryffindor table. "Mr Longbottom, Mr Potter, would you also accept our apology?"

Both boys looked shocked but nodded their heads vigorously.

"I have already sent an assortment of sweets up to your rooms," Mr Malfoy said. "Enjoy."

He turned to Headmaster Dumbledore. "I should like to speak to my son in your office now, Headmaster. If you could release the spell..?"

The Headmaster extended his hands out in a portrayal of sadness. "It is not me, but Hogwarts that must release them. It will end when the school says."

Lucius nodded. "I had heard, but had rather hoped … Then let's adjourn together."

A house-elf was called to move Hermione's new transportable library to her dorm room and the group left the Great Hall to whispers, with Lucius and Narcissa happily noting they were speculative for the most part. Their show of contrition seemed to have done its part in restoring their reputation amongst the children.

Lucius turned to the Headmaster when they reached the man's towering office. "What are the terms for releasing the bond?"

"He must feel truly sorry for his actions," the Headmaster said sadly.

Hermione shivered as Lucius Malfoy's eyes sharpened to daggers as he glared at his son. "He will be sorry, I assure you."

Seeing Malfoy shrink a little before putting on a defiant pose, Hermione realized something; that shrinking, it was the same as Harry's. She didn't know what it was, but it made her want to protect him.

Hermione felt Hogwarts' magic between them and implored the castle to help her, offering a silent prayer to Heavenly Father as well. The warmth from her heart and from her magic seeped into her body and she stepped in front of Draco.

"Sir!" Hermione spoke up, earning a rare mean look from Mr Malfoy. "I know it sounds really bad, but yesterday really was an accident. It wasn't nice, but he wasn't trying to kill me or anything."

"Shut up!" Malfoy hissed. "Stay out of this, mud-"

"Finish that word, Draco, and I will take you over my knee in front of the whole school." It was Narcissa who spoke then, her face tight and sad. "I did not raise you this way, Dragon."

The younger Malfoy seemed even paler when surrounded by the colourful furnishings of the Headmaster's office so Hermione could have been wrong in thinking he looked sick from his mother's words. But Hermione herself felt nothing but sympathy for him because those words hurt even her heart. She thought of her own mother, what she'd be proud of or disappointed for.

Lucius Malfoy's face went between her and his son, assessing. "You are not fond of my son, are you, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"And yet you defend him?"

"Yes, sir."

A raised brow, and then the eyes of the elder went to his pale, angry junior. "Draco, do you see this? It seems you are the recipient of some of the virtuous attributes of Gryffindor House. Unfailing honour and bravery.

"The actions of a proper lady in the making," Lucius nodded deferentially to her before turning to his son sharply. "And how do you treat a lady, Draco?"

"With respect."

Lucius looked down at his son. "Do we shove and push ladies, causing then to nearly plummet to their deaths? Do we try and harm ladies by ramming them with broomsticks you were forbidden from riding?"

Draco grit his teeth. "It wasn't her business to butt in!"

"As your classmate, it is her duty _to butt in!"_ The man hissed. "When you act like an ill-bred imbecile in front of an entire class then I would hope someone would step up to put an end to it! Such fits of temper do not become us."

Malfoy sneered up at his father. "It was Potter! Oh, he's such a big man here, always surrounded by his Gryffindors, making all the poor, unfortunate mudbloods–"

A flick of her wand and Narcissa had filled her son's mouth with bubbles. The boy spat and gagged, but at least the bubbled didn't multiply. Hermione looked on in horror.

"Headmaster, may we speak with our son – and I suppose Miss Granger – alone?" The Lady Malfoy was unerringly polite despite the sheer force of correction she'd just doled out on her son. "Of course, they may be late to their morning lessons, but –"

Dumbledore raised his hands genially. "Of course, my dear. However, I must remind you that you cannot discipline Miss Granger, though, even if you should feel it necessary. You understand."

"Of course, Headmaster," Narcissa gave a thin smile, and the Headmaster left the tower. When the door closed, the woman cast a few spells and then turned to the children. "Now, why don't we have a seat then and let Draco cool his temper before we continue, hmm?"

Hermione was seated in the armchair while the Malfoys all went to the couch, parents flanking their son but not looking at him. It made her feel sad, but she didn't know why.

"We should smile," Hermione announced after a moment of silence. They looked at her like she was mad, but she persevered in optimism, "Smiling when we don't feel like it is still smiling, and our brains know that. It makes us at least a little bit happier."

Silence, and then the blonde matriarch shook a little with a suppressed giggle. "Oh, the mind of a child. Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Stupid –"

"It seems we need to have a talk, young man," Lucius turned to his son, eyes grave. "What makes you think this behaviour is acceptable? Even after I have told you otherwise?"

The boy sneered at her, making Hermione want to lean away. It was just like the bullies in elementary school.

"You can drop the act, Father, there's no one else here."

"It is no act," Lucius said. "Your behaviour is reprehensible."

Malfoy just looked confused then. "But, you – you just said that because there were so many people around!"

His father leaned forward on his cane. "You spouted off those words in front of your classmates, it was proper to right it in front of them. It was not a matter of social pressure but of the Malfoy name. And you haven't answered; why do you think this behaviour is acceptable?"

"Why do you care? She's not important."

Steeling herself to the words was never easy. Any criticism pierced Hermione's heart, weighing it down for days at a time. She was too sensitive, her parents told her, too emotional. But she couldn't help it even if she tried and it made her even more sad that she couldn't stop herself from being that way. It was the same thing with her hand-waving, with her need to offer her testimony or answer questions right away. It never seemed like something she could stop.

So this phrase, playing on one of her best dreams and biggest fears, made her heart bleed and a couple of tears prick at her eyes.

"Foolish boy!" the elder Malfoy hissed. "You are a few weeks into classes, how do you know who will be important? Everyone around you has the potential to become a vital ally."

"But she's-!"

"Blood status does not matter at Hogwarts," Narcissa told her son, an icy glare chilling the room. "Here, where Dumbledore is Headmaster, do you truly expect any different?"

The youngest Malfoy froze. Hermione could practically hear his brain thinking, but she didn't understand. The words made sense in order but they still didn't make any sense to her.

"She is intelligent, driven, and your Uncle Severus has vouched for her," Lucius said. His hand was tight on his cane. "Miss Granger here could be a brilliant witch one day and as such is an ally to be cultivated."

"More importantly," Narcissa turned to her son full-on now, "I did not raise you to raise voice or hand to a woman. No matter her blood status."

Malfoy looked at Hermione with disgust. "Are you sure she's a girl?"

Another piercing of her heart. Another tear bouncing in her eye.

"Dragon!"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

Both sets of parents looked at him, appalled, as the child seemed to freeze out his parents and sit proudly on the velveteen sofa with a look of selfish pride.

Hermione begged the force that was Hogwarts to let her go. She needed to run away, needed to leave before she cried. Hogwarts touched her magic in comfort but did not relent. Yet the comfort that Hogwarts brought only made her feel vulnerable. She quickly got up and turned to one of the Headmaster's bookshelves – as far as she could really get in the circumstances – before her tears made their treacherous trek down the hills of her cheeks.

 _Heavenly Father,_ she prayed, _please help. I feel … I don't want to cry._

"Your behaviour is unacceptable!" Hermione heard yelled behind her. "I didn't believe Severus when he told me how bad you've become, but now I see it was no fiction. You think this is acceptable behaviour, do you? You will learn it only makes you a vulgar, rude little boy!"

"Everyone else in Slytherin –!"

"They are not Malfoys and they do _not_ decide what is right in our family!"

The father and son argued more behind her, but Hermione felt a slim female hand clasp her shoulder.

"I apologize again for my son, Miss Granger, but I suspect that's not enough," said the woman gently. Her eyes shone in understanding. "It is difficult when our womanly pride is damaged, isn't it?"

Hermione sniffled, trying to compose herself. "Looks don't matter. I shouldn't worry about them."

"Nonsense." Hermione looked up at the mother who regarded her with a softness she didn't think could exist on such a Malfoy-ish face. "Even boys care about how they look, my dear, and it's because appearances are the first impressions of our value. They show others how much we value ourselves that we take the time to ensure our proper grooming. It's certainly not shameful to want that, so long as you don't over-indulge in your vanity. While virtues are to be cultivated, beauty is nothing to be ashamed of and grooming and pampering only enhances the beauty within for all to see. It is showing others and ourselves how much we value our own care."

Oh. _That makes sense_ , Hermione reasoned. Mum always took a Saturday every month to 'take care of herself' and came back with her hair cut and nails done. Sometimes mum brought her along when she thought Hermione had been biting her nails or needed a haircut. But …

"And in cases like this, it also shows how much someone values you," Mrs Malfoy said with sorrowful eyes. "That's why it hurts so."

"I'm not good at that kind of stuff, I know that," Hermione sniffed. "Tara – my roommate – got me a potion last week for my hair, and it was supposed to work for a month, but by the end of the day, it stopped. She said that my hair sparks when I'm mad, so it makes the potion, er, turn off, I guess."

Narcissa's eyes lit up. "Oh, remarkable! It happens with us sometimes, physical representations of our powers. Oh dear one, it's not something to be worried about. Headmaster Dumbledore is similar; he actually makes the rooms darker when he's angry. The most common display is in the eyes, glowing eyes filled with magic, like Severus – Professor Snape, to you; his eyes glow as if in the light of a fire. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

"In fact," Narcissa grinned, "it gives me an idea for your hair. First off, no more parting it down the middle. One side or the other, please, it simply looks better. Ah –" Narcissa brushed Hermione's hair, well, lifted really because of the curls, to her right side, "– there we are. And would you mind if I sent you a few products? Some of them are magical, but you can be surprised how resistant certain types of potions can be. You wouldn't need to put it in your hair, only drink it, which means outside magic won't affect it as much. It's a potion where you add a single hair then drink it, and it makes your hair more uniform. No places straighter than others, no curls much tighter than the other, just a uniform head of your naturally beautiful curls. Do you want to give it a try?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you!"

Narcissa looked up and over to her husband. "Lucius!"

The father and son were glaring at each other mercilessly, neither breaking eye contact even as he nodded in acknowledgement of her call.

"I'm going to order a supply of that wonderful potion from America, that personalized one, what's the name?"

" _Madame Pompadour's Personal Pulchritude Perfecter_?"

She snapped her fingers. "That's just the one! I knew you paid attention. He's a wonderful husband, isn't he, dear? I'm getting Miss Granger a subscription if it works for her. She'll also need a few other odds and ends for her beauty regime as well."

"Joy."

Severus was making his way to the Headmaster's from they dungeons, a hard hike for sure. Having roped his seventh-year class into working quietly in the library – and thanking Irma with a bottle of his home-brewed leather oil for some library books – he made his way to the conference between his brother-in-arms and his godson and his, er, student with more haste than was strictly necessary. Lucius had no patience for muggles or muggleborns who didn't understand the Wizarding World and he worried just how long that patience would stretch for Miss Granger. Although from his conversation last night, he expected the anger of the Malfoy patriarch was directed firmly at his son.

* * *

 _It was his second visit to the Malfoy Estate within two days, and Narcissa had caught on that something was happening at the school._

 _She popped in, doing her job as a proper hostess to inquire whether they needed anything, and stayed to talk about Draco. Snape was relieved when Narcissa joined, to tell the truth, because she was always the least bigoted of the pair. She held no resentment towards Andromeda, at any rate, and that was quite a sign of goodwill towards muggleborns that she accepted one was married to her sister._

 _Upon hearing about Draco's behaviour at school, she was disapproving. And after hearing of the staircase incident, she was incensed. Finally, Severus smirked, the sensible reaction to hearing your child is a menace to society. Of course, Narcissa was more concerned that her son could ever hurt a woman than his bigotry, but there was also a measure of disgust for the actual epithets he uttered and the behaviour of thievery._

 _"I was going to recommend waiting the weekend as an indirect show of apathy," Severus said. "However, given today's events-"_

 _"Surely it wasn't so severe? She wasn't injured," Lucius pointed out._

 _"He could have seriously harmed the girl, Lucius!" she screeched. "Imagine if he had! What if Dumbledore had called the Aurors! And why didn't you tell me about his flying lesson before now? Even with our beliefs, Lucius, to take from another pureblood family! Augusta will have your head in the next Wizengamot session, and you know how well respected she is!"_

 _"And Potter is also influential," Severus sneered slightly at that but managed to repress his inner hatred of the boy. "Imagine what people would say about a formerly alleged Death Eater raising his son to hate the Boy-Who-Lived? One word in the wrong ear about what happened and the Wizarding World hates your boy and you."_

 _Narcissa nodded frantically. "Absolutely right. Well, we must prepare for our trip to Hogwarts tomorrow. We'll make amends to Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom, give a cursory apology to Mr Potter, and then deal with Draco. Can you make time for it, Lucius?"_

 _"Of course," he sighed. "But Narcissa, surely it isn't necessary to formally make amends, is it? Our reputation –"_

 _"Amongst our circle is fine without," she agreed, "but they are few and most are in prison. With the majority, we are still out of favour. Our reputation is better now than it was at your trial, of course, but I will not have this family dragged back into the limelight for another foolhardy attempt at blood purity!"_

 _Severus watched the stoic lady take a deep calming breath laden with more emotion than he normally saw for the woman. "You barely went free during the trials, and many still see our family as a threat. I will not have Draco grow up the same way."_

 _Lucius was silent, then gave a nod. "Very well. But full restitution only to the mudblood girl. She is the only one he attempted to harm."_

* * *

And now they were alone with her. Dumbledore himself had found him and told him as much, hinting that maybe as Draco's godfather he'd be welcomed in the room to watch over the girl and he was anxious to oblige.

"Jelly Beans," he snapped at the gryphon, barely pausing for the stairs to appear.

 _Well_ , Severus blinked at the scene before him, _that is unexpected_.

Granger was planted in a chair right in front of Narcissa, and from the delighted half-smile on Narcissa's face, she was fully enthused with Miss Granger's hair. Perhaps he should have anticipated this; with the excuse of getting into the girl's good graces, Narcissa was free to be as kind to her as Severus knew he was capable of. . . and the girl's hair was truly atrocious when freed.

He avoided that corner of the room and went to the sofas where Lucius and Draco were sharing glares with each other.

"Your gesture was received well." He sat next to Lucius. It was a power move, a small one, but enough that Draco knew once again that there was no one on his side. On this one, he and Lucius were in agreement. "Even among the snakes."

That made father and son look to him in surprise.

"Really?" Draco's voice came out as a, probably unintended, whine but enough to earn a glare from Lucius.

"Yes, Severus, truly?"

A nonchalant lean back and a nod. "Not all, clearly; Draco's friends were indignant of course. A few seventh and sixth years. But no one appreciates the triple-digit loss of points Mr Malfoy has accrued over the last couple of days, and no one believes he has approached this situation with the subtlety that is expected of their House.

"Add to it that Miss Granger sat with the House yesterday and was gracious, kind, and polite and that she's found an ally in Mr Price, whose reputation is impeccable. Her behaviour amongst the Slytherins endeared her to them far more than the whining of a clearly impolite and impulsive boy. Most agreed that this behaviour is inappropriate, privately and publicly."

At that, he leaned forward and looked down at the blonde boy. Blue met black in fear and anger. "Slytherin House is uniting, and not against Potter or Granger."

But then he drew back, not wanting to set undue expectations. "Of course, it's not overt. Those in Draco's year are either his friends or unlikely to cross him. And the older years are treating it like an _infant_ 's tantrum."

Draco was getting more and more frustrated, he could see, and Severus _did_ understand why the boy was feeling that way. All the years of being told and shown that he was the most important – both to his parents as a sole child and to society as a Malfoy – did not leave much room for the consideration of others. And for people like Potter and a muggleborn …. He had not been raised to do any differently.

"I don't understand!" he finally screamed in frustration, drawing gazes from the salon-corner of the room as well. "Why are you saying this? What did I do wrong!?"

Lucius and Severus shared a look. This was a delicate thing, with Granger being in the same room. References to blood status should be avoided, but clearly, it was still an issue in the boy's head.

While they considered, Hermione had gotten up from the chair she'd been forced into and approached the volatile Slytherin boy.

"You were mean," Hermione said, wincing at how simple it sounded. The boy whipped around, shooting daggers at her. "That's what you did wrong, okay? You don't know it's wrong to be mean."

"What?! I do too!" Draco sneered.

"No, you don't!" Hermione stamped her feet. "If you did we'd be free right now! You don't think you were wrong at all! You were mean to Neville and you took his gran's gift, and then you were mean to me and Harry, and you don't think it was wrong! It _was_ wrong! You can't just be awful to everyone all the time! It's childish."

Severus held Lucius back from interjecting. The kids were having it out, and it was good for Draco to have a head-to-head debate with someone on his level.

"I'm not a child! And you all deserve it!"

Hermione's first instinct was to get angry, but she still had the some of the lightness in her from earlier that Narcissa had unknowingly kept alive with her kindness. It made her a nanosecond slower in deciding what to say, enough to do a complete redirect her thoughts of laying into him.

So she didn't get angry, she got sad. It reminded her of when her dad tried to teach her about bullies not knowing any better. Draco really didn't know he wasn't right. And it reminded her of what her dad and mum had said some time ago after church.

"Anger doesn't get shared, you know," Hermione informed the boy, still a little sad for him. "You can be angry as you want but I don't feel your anger. You're the one who feels terrible when you get angry, and angry people make mistakes. Being mean is a mistake."

Severus and Lucius felt slightly dizzied by the non-sequiturs in the girl's speech – clear evidence of her age – but to their surprise, Draco seemed to follow it the way only a kid could and frown intently.

Hermione didn't know what else to say. She didn't want to say the wrong thing and make him not listen to her, but she wanted to help him, a little. She was still sad for him now that she saw what her daddy said was true.

"I think you should smile," Hermione said finally, the only thing she could think of. He really was miserable, and whenever she was miserable that was what she did. "I haven't really seen a happy smile on you before. No, not with your friends, or at dinner, or when flying … everything is a little

Hermione plopped herself right next to Draco, no regard for how strange her sudden change was. See, to a child, it made sense. She'd remembered her decision to smile and be happy while Malfoy was attached to her, and she'd immediately fixed it. There was no reason not to fix it. She was now smiling at the distraught Draco with a brightness that Severus had to admit he'd missed since yesterday.

"I think what Miss Granger is saying, Draco," Lucius stepped in then, words slow, "is that you can control your own emotions with a change in perspective. Not everything must be taken as a personal offence to you. In fact, most things are not."

Hermione remembered a quote she liked and shared it out loud.

"'School thy feelings, oh my brother,

Train thy warm impulsive soul,

Do not its emotions smother,

But let wisdom's voice control.'"

The group of them looked at her with different faces, but she was looking at Draco who was steadfastly frowning at the floor.

"It's a quote I learned," Hermione told him with a cheery smile, trying not to make the boy angry again. "I have a whole quotes book of my favourite ones and I collect them. They had this other one, 'Hold your tongues about things of no moment.' If it's something that doesn't really matter – something not really wrong, just different and maybe annoying to me – I shouldn't say anything about it because it will do more bad than good if I do. I'm not really good at it, but mum says I should try or I won't make many friends."

Once again, Severus was gobsmacked. This small child was speaking with more wisdom than even some his age couldn't impart, and with an earnestness that pierced straight through your heart. He saw Narcissa's eyes brighten as she looked upon the girl, and even Lucius looked pensive at her words. Draco … Draco finally looked a little sorry.

"And I'm talking too much again, I'm sorry," Hermione said with an embarrassed smile. "I just didn't want you to be sad. That's all."

 _Didn't want you to be sad … Didn't want you to be sad …_ "Why'd'you care?" Draco clung to his last petulant string, turning away from the girl.

Hermione frowned. "Well, of course, I care. You are a person, too."

The dam broke for Draco. He sagged as the last of his tantrum left him, and he realized just how angry he had been and just how much it had controlled him. He really shouldn't have been so angry, it didn't leave him feeling great … and he'd needed someone like Granger to fix it. That was how low he'd fallen. He'd given a mudblood the high ground.

She was still a mudblood to him, though. He's only eleven, this stuff didn't get fixed in one go.

But still, he whispered. "Thanks."

Lucius interjected then, his voice low but firm. "Draco, I believe now would be the appropriate time to apologize."

Severus saw the child bristle and worried his pride would make an instant reappearance because of his father, but the small bristle that could have easily turned into a tantrum faded. He drew himself up and bowed his head the way he was brought up, still stiff but only as a cover for his true feelings.

"I'm sorry."

That was enough for the castle. Both kids felt the magic tether fall away and grinned at each other before turning to the adults. "It's gone!"

"Oh, well done, Draco!" Narcissa beamed proudly at her son. "This has been a good lesson, and I hope you never forget it."

"Indeed," Lucius Malfoy seemed both genuinely relieved and slightly concerned. As if he didn't know what to expect. "However, does Miss Granger accept your apology?"

Hermione was suddenly the focus again, but she was already nodded to Draco and then to his parents, back and forth, in her usual frenetic bobbing. Severus suppressed a smirk.

"Excellent," Narcissa clapped. "Now, I know you two will butt heads, but I want you both to get along in the future. Shake hands and be friends. Can you two do that for me?"

 _That's an interesting play,_ Severus thought. Hermione, the Gryffindor she was, stuck out her hand immediately. Draco looked like his pride might resurface and fight the edict of his mother, but a look at the girl's smiling face and he clasped her hand tight.

Draco smirked at her. "Friends don't tell Potter that their friend got a hiding from their parents, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right."

Narcissa downright beamed at the two of them. "This is now resolved quite nicely, I think. We should let the children get to class. But Draco, please don't forget to think about your words and to watch that temper; we don't want anything else to happen, right? And Miss Granger? I will send the sample potion that we talked about, the one for your hair, and I'll expect your owl telling me how it works out. Now off you go!"

Both children grabbed their bags and made for the exit, but Narcissa grabbed Draco in a choking hug before he left.

"I love you, Dragon," she said with a warble. "And I do miss you. Write to your mother often, alright?"

Draco blushed but nodded. Then together the kids left Dumbledore's office.

Lucius' eyes turned to Severus', analytical. "It was an interesting choice for Dumbledore to place him with this particular muggleborn, wasn't it? And it didn't last long."

"No," he mused, "but it didn't have to. It brought both of you to Hogwarts to see Draco's behaviour and showed a new, non-prejudice attitude for the school. Miss Granger was just an effective tool."

"But I think we can agree she is an absolutely delightful child," Narcissa announced, sitting across from the pair of them. "And she was able to bring out Draco's better side – with our help of course."

Severus thought about that interaction. Children often understood each other better than they did adults, true, but he doubted that even if he understood Draco's line of reasoning that he would have been able to give the boy similar counsel as Miss Granger. Bringing out his better side indeed.

"Yes, she is quite singular," he said simply. "There is a lot of attention on this girl."

 _Meaning you can't touch her, Lucius,_ was his silent edict to the blond Lord. But he was surprised to note that Lucius had his cane under his chin as he thought intently about the interaction. He and Narcissa waited for the man's verdict quietly.

"See how she does with those books, Severus," said Lucius finally. "And keep Draco from offending her again. I'm interested to see who else's attention falls on her."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

* * *

When she showed up to lunch without Draco attached, the table cheered. They did ask her what happened with the Malfoys once they left, but all she said is that after talking to his parents, Draco had apologized sincerely and that was that. It was a boring story but that meant she didn't have to say it a lot for people to stop asking.

Things went back to normal. Church on Sunday was always a little hard with Professor Snape, but Saturdays brewing with him were much more educational and fun. She did her best to maintain the small ties she'd had with Slytherin by dragging Cedric over to sit with her and Anthony every so often – the Hufflepuff really diffused whatever hostility was at the table, so she felt better sitting there if he was present.

But then, a few days later, she was in her Transfiguration class when a familiar flush of magic went through her. Her hand was up in the air in an instant.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

She couldn't help but bounce. "Umm, can I go into the hall for a minute?"

Professor McGonagall and the rest of the class looked at her bizarrely. "Do you need to use the facilities?"

"No, no!" Hermione blushed. "That's not it at all. I-"

"Then may I continue the lesson?" said her teacher with pursed lips. "I trust you can still pay attention?"

"Ma'am, please, it's not that," Hermione insisted, barely staying in her seat. She could feel the tug becoming tighter and she knew what was coming. "If I can just look out the door—"

Too late. The door opened magically on its own and a platinum blond stumbled into the room. Hermione rushed forward to keep him from being pulled through the desks and Draco glared at her with only his half-dose of his usual venom.

"What did you do now?" Hermione huffed. She couldn't help but feel disappointed in him. It had only been a few days and the castle had decided he needed to be put back with her. Couldn't he behave?

Draco didn't dare yell in front of the Deputy Headmistress, but he still sneered.

Hermione turned to McGonagall. "Professor, I think I should go with Malfoy. Can I be excused so we can get this taken care of?"

The stern Transfiguration Mistress pursed her lips. "Mr. Malfoy, what is your current class?"

"Pfmsgfnm," Draco mumbled incomprehensibly.

Hermione knew though. "Potions, ma'am."

"Then I suggest the pair of you return there," she sniffed and cast a disapproving eye on Draco. "If Mr. Malfoy in some way broke school rules, I am certain Professor Snape will apprise you of the situation."

Hermione bowed quickly. "Thank you, thank you, we'll go now."

She dragged Malfoy from the room.

"I thought we were done with this nonsense," Malfoy huffed. "That spell dragged me halfway across the castle!"

"And what did you do?" She assessed him carefully.

"I, no, well," he sputtered, "it's not like I did anything _bad_. Potter was just—"

Hermione drew her palm down her face. "Of course you just _had_ to fight Harry again."

"We didn't fight!" Malfoy drew up stiffly. "Potions are tricky, and if another ingredient _somehow_ ends up in the cauldron …. We can just call it a bit of payback."

"For?"

Malfoy pursed his lips and remained silent.

Hermione guessed it immediately. "Please tell me it's not about being on the Quidditch team."

Malfoy sneered. "That's not my only reason. Potter is the most self-righteous, annoying –"

"Maybe he can afford to be self-righteous since he doesn't go around harassing people!" Hermione asserted, then sighed. "Well, might as well get this over with. Are you ready to apologize?"

His eyes went wide. "Apologize?!"

"Well, how else do you think this will go away?" Hermione demanded, hands on hips. "I mean, really, you know what you did was wrong. Harry has a hard enough time in Potions as it is and you sabotaging him is just cruel when he has to try so hard. Aren't you a little bit sorry?"

"It's Potter," Draco sneered. "He deserved it."

"And _you_ deserve every single detention we still have with Professor Snape," Hermione reminded him primly, making the boy red with shame. "Potions is difficult for him right now; does it make you feel better to make it worse? That's horrible. I thought we decided you'd stop being so mean."

His eyes flashed, but despite his stiff spine he gave a unenthusiastic nod.

"Does that mean …?"

Draco strode forward. "Let's just get this out of the way, shall we?"

Together, the pair strode into Snape's first year Slytherin/Gryffindor Potions Class. He was cleaning up some mishap with an overturned cauldron that Malfoy looked on with a look that told her he had done that as he was dragged from the room.

"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger," Professor Snape greeted with a curl. "Why am I not surprised?"

Instead of responding, Hermione nudged Draco forward. He gave her a seething glare, but still walked right up to Harry and stood proudly above his station.

"Potter," Hermione could hear him hold back his usual sneer, "of course the castle would be on your side too." Draco waved her off before she could intervene. "I suppose I can find another way to challenge you besides making your abysmal potions worse. Kicking a man when he's down is … not fair play. I apologize."

 _Always a prickly apologizer,_ Hermione thought as the magic released her, _but at least he means it._

"Seriously?" Weasley gaped.

Draco didn't stick around, heading back to his seat. Professor Snape ignored the whole scene and turned to her. "Miss Granger, don't you have Transfiguration?"

She bounced and smiled up at him, making most of the room gape. "We're not doing anything special today, just a lecture on theory before turning teapots into tortoises. Do you need any help with ingredients? You had a new shipment of dittany the other day, right? I could hang some to dry, and then prepare it to distill."

"Am I never to be rid of Gryffindors?" he snarked, banishing the offending cauldron to the sink. "I have enough dried dittany. Go shred and steep the batch in the back for distilling. But if I find you anywhere near the distilling equipment—"

"You'll feed me to the werewolves, I know," she laughed and bounced to the back closet.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and every other first-year student watched her go with fascination. Who was Hermione Granger, and why wasn't she afraid of Snape?

* * *

So whenever Draco needed a reminder of his lessons, she ended up tied to him from anywhere to 30 minutes to a few hours while she and he worked through his behaviour together. Hermione found out she was actually pretty good at giving advice. And Draco, it seemed, was alright with her giving it after his parents had given the okay.

Speaking of his parents, she wished she could bring the twins up to the girls' dorm, because the chest the Malfoy's had given her was _amazing_. There was a ladder inside the lid that led down to a small library. It was the size of the top floor of her house, with a fireplace and sitting area and about a dozen wooden shelves. Some of them were full, but Hermione found a note on the armchair's side table that explained the two empty shelves.

 _The books are yours, however the empty shelves for your future purchases. I trust you will not have trouble filling them in the future. As for the fireplace, should you wish to use it as a floo you will need to open the chimney, as it is currently closed. There is floo powder in the cabinet to the right. The name you will call to return to it is "Hermione's Library". It's lucky your name is so unique, or I might have needed something more creative._

 _– Lucius Malfoy_

Daedalus always came down with her when she went into the chest, there for cuddles. Hermione would have spent a lot of time down there if Professor Snape wasn't looking out for her like her parents would have. Many, many times he enforced her agreement to take part in all the school's activities: meals, Quidditch games, and even the frog choir. That wasn't necessarily his doing, but Professor Flitwick had walked into the Professor's classroom to speak about detention for his Ravens and had caught her humming over a potion. Professor Flitwick promptly asked her Professor for permission to enlist her and had whisked her away once a week to sing with the choir. Since it saved her from detention with Draco – no matter how pleasant the detention – it was more than welcome.

It wasn't just him keeping her from lying low in her chest; the twins were pulling her away to do animagus meditations regularly, and then she was pulled to their corner to do homework together.

They threw a birthday party for her in the Gryffindor Common Room. She got a few gifts from her friends – hairbands, books, dental potions(that one was from Alicia – she was the one who made fun of her flossing instead of using spells) – but the best gifts actually came from Mrs Malfoy and Professor Snape:

Mrs Malfoy followed up on her promise to get her that potion from America, and it _worked._ When she showed Professor Snape her now perfect curls and the potion he said that the potion took account of her magic when the hair was placed in it. Her hair had never been less frizzy or more perfect, and she'd never been more excited to send a thank you letter.

And Professor Snape told her he didn't give presents to students, but he did actively seek her out and hand her a new Potions book that day with a stern command of, "Read this if you want to improve beyond the confines of that unserviceable textbook." She was so happy she hugged him and earned another shout of "MISS GRANGER!"

The day after her birthday she brought one of the animagus books in her Malfoy trunk to Fred and George and showed them the animagus meditation poses. It was supposed to help them narrow down their animal until their body knew what their magic felt akin to. She remembered a few of them from a friend of the family who had shown them tai chi at a church event – eagle, tiger, monkey, dragon – but there were more. It seemed to narrow everything down though.

The three of them met under the stadium bleachers and did their exercises together to see if they could find their animal. The twins favoured the bird poses, clearly showing they were going to have some kind of wings. Hermione felt more comfortable on all fours, but she didn't think she had fangs or claws from the non-aggressive nature of the poses she chose. A four-legged herbivore? There were tonnes of those around, though, so she had no idea.

When the beginning of October rolled around, their mandrake leaves were set to put into their potions. They would each have twelve doses ready of animagus potion. If, after twelve months, they didn't have a form yet they would have to start all over the next year with a new mandrake leaf.

Under the bleachers again, the three of them sat cross-legged in a little triangle with their first doses in hand. The twins' both had a blue-ish hue to their otherwise brown drink, while Hermione's just looked dark and almost burnt with the swirls of black running through it.

"You're sure Lee doesn't mind?" Hermione deflected quickly, hoping to put off the inevitable. "It's pretty big."

"Granger, we're not Lee's only friends, you know," Fred pointed out. "He has fans-"

"And friends –"

"And the occasional girlfriend –"

"And he doesn't really care what mischief we cook up."

"Besides…." Both twins gave her a wicked grin, "We like having a secret with you."

The blush on her face didn't last long, because the twins immediately uncorked their vials. "Ready?"

She hurried to uncork hers too. "Ready."

"One, two, three!"

The dirt-flavoured potion was chugged down in seconds and vials discarded to centre of their triangle. Each of them closed their eyes and tried to focus on their meditations.

"Please not a bat, please not a bat." George chanted under his breath.

Fred susurrated a laugh under his breath. "Or a chicken."

That one earned a sharp laugh from her that she promptly choked back. "SHHHH! Focus!"

Both twins giggled for a second longer, but another glare from her and they quieted down with a pat on her head.

Still, the month past and neither she nor the twins had made themselves even partially transform. She reassured herself that it was normal for those really good at Transfiguration, like Professor McGonagall, to not get it for a year. At least the mandrake leaf wasn't in her mouth anymore and the potion was drunk. She'd just continue to try with the meditations (and her personal prayer, of course).

Sunday nights after church she always came back to the messiest common room of the week, packed with last-minute homework frenzies. The twins had slowly moved over from their corner to sit with Harry and Ron and Neville who she now regularly helped and who helped her if there were things she'd missed by skipping the first year.

But no matter how many times she helped Harry, the complaints about Professor Snape never improved. That first essay she'd helped with had come back with a large, red 'DREADFUL' written right across the top, and it never changed. They would be working on Potions homework and when she asked him about his grade that week he would thrust a scroll at her that was covered in red and slashed with either a 'P' or a 'D'. And Ron would start the verbal complaint, after which Harry would finish with a declaration of innocence.

"I didn't even do anything!" "There was nothing wrong with it!" "Goyle got an A!" "You even _helped_ me with all of it, and he still gave me a 'Poor'!"

Everyone in the Tower had stories about Snape, but Harry's were clearly the worst and most consistent. She thought many times about asking the Professor about it, but invariably there was an additional lesson she _had_ to learn, and an extra question that took too long to answer, etc. She never found the right moment or she forgot until the moment passed … or she chickened out. That may have been the main issue. She didn't want to accuse Professor Snape of anything, so she got too scared to say anything.

The sheer number of problems in the paper that Professor Snape marked off was extremely discouraging to her. She wrote essays for his class _and_ helped Harry, but her third-year essays got better treatment than his. There just had to be something going on.

So Hermione paid extra attention to Harry. And when she paid attention, something she couldn't put her finger on made her heart squirm unhappily. . . Like when you saw a wounded animal or a crying classmate. But Harry wasn't injured, and she'd never seen him cry. So why did she feel the need to take care of him?

She started noticing things. His vocabulary was the first thing she noticed because of all his papers since it wasn't a very long list of words that he used regularly. Most of his sentences and words were simple. When she asked him, as politely as she could, he actually snatched his paper back from her with a muttered, "wanna be sure 'm using 'em right."

Then his eating. He seemed uncomfortable with cutlery. Not noticeable at first glance, but she really had been watching him a lot and he was certainly slower with the utensils than anyone else and fumbled when he picked them up. He also went for the fattiest, meatiest foods first even though he never finished them, instead of passing them to Ron before he grabbed some rolls or lighter fare.

On Saturdays, she noticed he would always wear his school clothes. Most children wore their home clothes gratefully on weekends to get out of the starchy button-ups, but not Harry. He'd leave the robe in his room but the rest of his school uniform remained on. Even when it was really hot, he'd just roll up his sleeves and leave it at that.

At first, it all seemed kind of normal, but the feeling didn't go away. She'd taken to drawing Harry over at breakfast to sit with her whenever she could, although Ron didn't seem to like sitting by his brothers and Harry look bewildered by her all the time. The shy boy was encouraged to talk to her, but she really could only talk about school. It was a safe topic, really, since they did homework together and shared teachers.

But whenever Harry said something smart he'd pretend he hadn't said anything or that it had been someone else's idea.

"There's a kind of connection between rhythm and spells like you're magicking with music," he'd said once. When she enthusiastically agreed and praised him for the insight, he'd gone wide-eyed and shook his head violently. "No, that's not – it really isn't my idea, I, er, Ron said it, I think."

She really couldn't understand it, but she did understand that the act made her heart feel as if a hand was clenching at it.

So, one of the nights where she was awake and her dorm was asleep, she knelt down to pray. If something was going on with Harry, then she needed to know what it was because she felt desperate to help him but she didn't know with what.

"Heavenly Father, please help me to know what's wrong with Harry. I want to help him, and I think it's you who is telling me so, but I don't understand what it means. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

The urge got stronger the next day.

"Harry! Neville! Ron!" She waved them over to her eagerly. It was a surprise to see Ron look angry, but Neville and Harry looked happy for the invitation so she ignored it. Maybe he was like her mum and didn't like Halloween? Although she couldn't picture witches and wizards saying it was a holiday glorifying paganism and satanism. Her mum didn't think that badly of Halloween since learning she was a witch, but she still knew she'd never be allowed to trick or treat or dress up like a zombie.

"Mind if I walk you to class?" Hermione asked hopefully, mostly looking at Harry. "You have Defence first, right?"

"We know how to get there, Granger," Ron complained.

"I know!" She held up her hands. "I just ... can't I? I won't be in the way."

Harry and Neville looked at each other and shrugged, as if to say ' _girls'_ , and agreed.

"So … are you going to the feast tonight, Harry?"

It was a thought Hermione had. Maybe she was feeling so protective of Harry because his parent's death was so close. Halloween had to be a tricky time for him, so perhaps he was feeling poorly.

"I don't have to?"

"No, you do!" Ron ejaculated, eyes wide. "Harry, you can't miss it! My brothers say there are always mountains of sweets and cakes and drinks! It's the most massive feast of the year!"

"Ronald, maybe there's something even more important!" Hermione hissed. "What if Harry wants to, I don't know, _visit his parent's graves_?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide, and looked at her in absolute shock. "Their. . . graves? They have … ?"

"You've never been?" Hermione felt horribly for him, and it felt like her fault. With a comforting hand on his shoulder, she spoke as softly as possible, "I can't believe your family never took you."

Harry drew back then and snapped, "Well they didn't, okay?"

The anger wasn't expected, but Hermione persevered. "The books say they were buried right by the … the house they had in Godric's Hollow."

The books actually said they were buried by the monument to Harry's defeat of You-Know-Who, but that didn't feel like the right thing to say to him.

"Do you want to go?" Harry's eyes lit up and Hermione felt as if a puppy was wagging its tail at her. "I'm sure one of the teachers would take you. We could ask Professor McGonagall. It is sort of last minute, but we can go find her at lunch and see if she will."

Harry shook his head, eyes down.

"Don't wanna be a problem," he mumbled, scuffing up his shoe.

"I can come and ask for you, then," Hermione announced, eager to do this for Harry. "I'll meet you at lunch!"

So about midway through lunch, the pair of students approached the Head table together, garnering the attention of most of the staff. Severus watched with piercing eyes.

"Professor?" Hermione said plaintively. "Can we talk to you? It'll just take a minute."

Minerva took in the expressions of her two cubs and decided it must be serious. She ushered them both into the side hallway off the Great Hall before turning them to her.

"Well, Ms Granger, Mr Potter?"

It was the third-year that spoke first, her face pleading. "Professor, Harry was hoping someone could take him to his parent's graves tonight."

Minerva was struck dumb. Both her cubs were looking at her, begging her to do this for Harry when she should have approached him herself regarding his plans for the holiday. She should have anticipated that Mr Potter might want to remember his parents tonight of all nights.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter," Harry looked down, dejected, and she moved to fix it, "I should have known. Of course you may visit them."

Both students beamed up at her until she spoke again. "In fact, after the Halloween feast, Professor Snape is heading to Godric's Hollow. Would it be alright if he escorted you?"

Hermione was absolutely unnerved by how angry Harry became in the span of one second. One moment he was looking hopeful, the next like he could punch something. Gone was the meek boy, here was a loud, brash one.

"No!" Harry yelled. "Not him!"

Hermione actually stepped back, physically moved away from Harry. But when Harry saw her, her fear obvious, he looked horrified.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I really shouldn't have yelled," he apologized hurried to her and Professor McGonagall. "I'm sorry, really."

Hermione nodded. The protective ball in her stomach just got tighter and tighter the more time she spent with Harry. He _wasn't_ alright. She was sure of it.

"Well," Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, "do not do so again. It was merely a question, Mr Potter. Since Professor Snape goes to Godric's Hollow himself every year it seemed more efficient."

Hermione and Harry gaped. _Snape visited his/Harry's parents? Every year?_

"It would have been convenient, but I suppose –" Minerva continued, but Harry interrupted.

"He, he won't …" Harry bit his lip, struggling to get the words out. "Snape won't take me. He hates me."

 _Oooh, that man_! Minerva thought, looking down at Harry. _What have you done to this boy?_

Minerva knew that their Potions Master was not the kindest man in regular circumstances, and he'd also been chomping at the bit because of Harry's arrival at Hogwarts. That he'd become a Gryffindor, that he looked like his father, all these things worked against Harry in Severus' eyes and she'd been hearing about it nonstop in staff meetings. And it seemed Harry knew it.

Her eyes flickered to an extremely concerned looking Miss Granger, and she had an idea.

"Well, I think you two must come to an accord, then," she announced to the downtrodden boy. "Here's what we will do: Miss Granger is on good terms with both you and Professor Snape. If she is the one to ask him to escort you, and if she has him promise to be respectful on this trip, will you trust Miss Granger and let him escort you? She could go with you two and keep things civil."

Harry's eyes widened. "But he won't! He'll never agree to be nice to me!"

"If he doesn't then I promise, Harry, I will take you there myself," said McGonagall kindly. "But if he does…? This could be a chance to get through to him, couldn't it? Maybe if he sees you outside of his Potions classroom it will make things better between you."

 _Or for him to see you next to your mother,_ she thought sadly. _If Lily's headstone is what it takes for Severus to come out of this, then so be it. I'll put the pair of them there._

Hermione jumped forward, ecstatic. "The Professor can be nice Harry, really, once you see it. And you are great! Once he gets to know you there's no way he can hate you."

Then, a brilliant idea. "Harry, you have Potions after lunch, right? And I have Transfiguration! Professor –?"

The cat-professor was already conjuring the parchment for her.

"Here you are," she gave the slip to Miss Granger with an amused smile. "This will let Professor Snape that his student has volunteered to help with his first-year class. Or at the very least that you won't be late for mine."

"Yes!" She dragged Harry into a hug, barely noticing that he flinched at the little contact, before dragging him off to lunch. "Thank you, Professor!"

Professor Snape was gone from the Great Hall by the time they returned, so they immediately changed course to the dungeons.

"She's letting you _skip_ her class?" Harry gasped, finally catching on to the piece of paper he had in her hand. "Why?"

"To help you and Professor Snape, of course," she said with a grin. "You're both my friends, so you should get along."

That pulled Harry up short. "Friends?"

"Well, yes, I think so," Hermione was suddenly anxious. What if Harry didn't think they were friends? "I-I am your friend, right? Because sometimes I get too excited and people get scared of me, and I don't want you to—"

"So we're friends?" Harry beamed. "Real friends."

"Yeah."

She pulled him by the hand all the way to the dungeons and the Potions classroom. Professor Snape wasn't there yet, but Hermione knew where to look for him after all her time helping and continued pulling Harry until they were at the open door to the storeroom.

"Hello, Professor!" Hermione chirped.

Snape smothered a wildly age-inappropriate curse as he banged his head on a shelf. He hadn't expected the Mormon Menace until later that afternoon, and no one but Draco arrived in Potions class early regardless. He spun, prepared to remind her that she was not in this class, and froze, his gaze locked on a pair of joined hands and emerald green eyes.

"Potter," he snapped. "What do you want?"

The mini-Potter shrank away from him just as he wanted, but Miss Granger was also there and looking at him with surprise and … determination?

"Harry wanted to ask—"

"Then he can ask for himself," Snape cut in sharply, glaring at the boy. "Well? You had something to say to me, boy?"

"No, I didn't!" Harry hissed. He pulled himself out of Hermione's hold. "Let's just go!"

"But Harry . . ?"

Harry Potter stomped off in a huff, _that_ _melodramatic, immature, spoiled little –_

Then Miss Granger was in front of him, hands on her hips and ready to scold him.

"You scared him away!" she yelled. "I told Harry you wouldn't be mean to him, that you could be nice, too, but he thinks you hate him!"

Snape glowered. "He'd be right."

He wasn't expecting the crestfallen face he got. Wide amber eyes that had been so trusting now crushing him with their disappointment.

"Wh-what? Why?"

"Tread carefully," he sneered.

"No!" she stomped her foot immaturely. "Harry is nice and shy, and he-he needs help! Why were you mean to him?"

Snape glared down at the little hellion with more anger sparking through him than he'd ever directed at her. He didn't need to justify himself to a _child_!

"Five points from Gryffindor!" he roared. It was that or threaten to strangle the girl. "I do not answer to you!"

Hermione didn't care about the points, she just cared about Harry, about not understanding what was happening. She shrieked in frustration. "I don't understand! All he wanted was to visit his parents tonight! That all! Why can't you be nice to him today of all days!?"

The words pierced him like an arrow between the ribs, hitting his heart until it was bleeding out painfully. He had lived through his fair share of guilt trips at his hands or Dumbledore's to recognize the feeling, but he had never thought his treatment of a _Potter_ would bring it on.

"He does not need to be coddled," he argued, with himself this time more than her. "He's a spoiled, arrogant—"

"Stop that!" The chit dared to kick him in the leg, him! A Professor! It wasn't a light teasing kick, either. His shin smarted. _Did the girl where steel-toed shoes?_ Detention was right on his lips before her next words. "He's not arrogant, he's not spoiled! He works hard at his homework, even for this class when all you give him are Ps and Ds, and he doesn't even ask for help until I offer it! He's scared of his own shadow! And I'm going to protect him, so you're not allowed to insult him!"

 _Scared of his own shadow_? That was not the angry boy who'd been in the class earlier, the one who'd stormed off at a less than cordial greeting. Potter certainly wasn't scared of him the way most students were.

Diversion. That was the way to derail the girl. His shin actually smarted. "Detention, Miss Granger, with me, for assaulting a Professor."

The girl finally blanched. But what followed was worse than her justice-fighter attitude. Her eyes gilled with impending tears, glistening in the torchlight.

Another diversion, he needed another diversion. "Go tell Potter I will not accompany the ungrateful boy. I deal with him enough in classes."

The girl didn't leave to find Potter, though, no, she had to stay and fight. Had to stay and murder him with those wet, amber eyes. "Why-how-he's just a boy! Why do you hate him so much?"

"His attitude—"

"You like Draco!" threw the girl, halting him. "He's the most spoiled, arrogant person I've ever met and you like him! Harry says you were mean to him in his first class just for taking notes!"

 _Taking notes?_ Snape thought, bewildered. He remembered the boy not meeting his eyes, drawing in his notebooks. _Could he have been taking notes, not doodling the time away?_ He banished the thought. Even if he was taking notes, he'd still been cheeky after his questions.

"I didn't believe Harry when he said you hated him," the girl pressed, lips wobbling and speaking of impending tears. "I thought he didn't understand you, or your sense of humour, or how stern you are, but I was wrong! You-you're as bad at Malfoy! You're a bully!"

Severus forced himself not to take the word to heart. Bully. He'd been called that many times, been called worse, but he didn't deserve the moniker. Perhaps his treatment of the boy was harsh, but Harry Potter was almost universally adored; he should be taken down a peg.

"All he wanted was to see his parents' graves," Hermione said, her tone so disappointed in him she could put Dumbledore to shame. "He's never been. He didn't even know they had graves."

 _Never been?_ He couldn't believe his ears. Petunia had never once taken Potter to visit her sister, his mother? He supposed going on Halloween was riskier than the prim Petunia could manage, but in broad daylight any other day of the year she'd never once honoured Lily's sacrifice? Had the boy made it up so he could go this year? Thinking he'd be refused if he didn't make the story more tragic?

"I can't believe you!"

The girl turned to flee, but not in time to hide the tears he'd brought to her eyes finally cascading down her cheeks. He did not move to stop her. Instead, he stood stock still as he processed her child-like, yet emotionally draining arguments. He felt not only guilty of debasing Potter but of disappointing his charge. He tried to ignore it – tell himself he'd warned her from the beginning he was not a good man, that she shouldn't think him such – but the leaden pit didn't subside. He could Occlude, remove himself that way, but he found it difficult to do while seeing Potter's angry green eyes over his cauldron as the first-years brewed. The boy-who-had-her-eyes, rage tainting those emerald orbs.

Maybe rather than Occluding he could simply agree to take the brat to Godric's Hollow. He needn't apologize or say he was wrong – he was _not_ wrong in his opinion of the boy – but it was a serviceable way to appease the guilt trip Miss Granger had taken him on.

Decided, he called Potter up after class and told him that he agreed to his request. If the boy could keep his insolent mouth shut, they could attend the grave without further aggravation.

Harry couldn't believe it. The Professor who he was sure hated him with as much anger as Uncle Vernon had for magic had civilly – if not with a scattering of warnings that he was to treat the trip with reverence – accepted the duty to escort him after the feast that evening. He was so shocked he almost didn't get angry when the Professor implied that Harry would laugh or be rowdy in the cemetery, or that he couldn't dress for the occasion.

Hermione had done something, he had no doubt about it. But she wasn't back at the common room after classes, and then when he went to the feast he didn't see her either. He wanted to make sure she was coming too, thank her for making this happen today, but there was no sign of her.

Finally, he gave in to his worry and asked the twins if they'd seen her.

"Sorry, Harry."

"Haven't seen her."

An older girl piped up then, leaning over the table to them. "Susan – the Ravenclaw I sit with in Defence? – says Hermione's locked herself in the first-floor girl's bathroom, crying, and won't come out, says she wants to be left alone. She's been in there all afternoon but nobody knows what happened."

His small spark of gratitude for Snape instantly died.

"Snape," he growled, glaring at the blank-faced man seated high above them.

"Professor Snape?" the twins looked at each other in surprise. "But spitfire's his favourite."

"She _likes_ him."

Harry clenched his fists. "Snape _hates_ me, though. And Hermione was trying to stick up for me but I got too angry, and then I left her alone with that git! I have to find her."

He rose to leave but the twins pulled him back. "Girl's bathroom, Harry."

"Best let the females get her, hmm?"

A dramatic whoosh of wind that made all the candles flicker accompanied a massive banging of the Great Hall doors against the stone of the castle as Professor Quirrell ran in. Students hushed and Dumbledore rose as Quirrell ran forward, looking pale and unsteady.

"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!" He swayed on his feet. "Thought you out to know."

Quirrell fell to the floor and everyone began to scream. Harry's first thought was that Hermione wasn't there. He was on the first floor, not far, but she didn't know about the troll. What if she tried to meet up with them after the feast and met the troll?!

Everyone was screaming until Dumbledore bellowed a mighty, "SILENCE!"

The room stilled.

"Now," he continued, "Prefects will lead their house back to the dormitories. Teachers will come with me to the dungeons."

"What about Slytherin?" One kid shouted.

"You will join Ravenclaw in their tower," Snape answered, glaring at the Headmaster. "Go."

At first, the chaos made it hard to think. He followed the Gryffindor prefect, just thinking about the troll. Then, one thought … Hermione. Harry was already bolting for the door, running fast as he could to grab Hermione and bring her back to safety. She was nice, only a year older than him, and had declared him her friend … she'd gone against Snape for him. No one stood up to Snape! And now she was in danger for it!

Distantly, he heard the thumping of large, heavy feet and ran faster until he crashed into the girl's lavatory.

"Hermione!" he yelled. He heard sniffles from a stall and skidded to a halt in front of it, banging furiously. "Hermione, we need to get to the tower! There's a troll loose!"

When Hermione opened the door in shock, he didn't give her time to process. He snatched her hand and prepared to run some more. "Harry!"

"Come on," he said, "we have to hurry!"

"Too late!" Two streaks of ginger flew into the room after them, wands drawn and pointed at the door. "Troll's on its way! _Par imaginem!_ "

The twins seemed to fill in the doorway with bricks, although Hermione knew it was just an illusion of bricks. If the troll tried to smash through, there'd be nothing there.

"Maybe that'll work," the twins whispered, hushed now. The moved, George standing in front of Harry and Fred taking up in front of Hermione. "Be very quiet."

Then Hermione heard it. Grunts. Thumps. Wood dragging against stone. It sounded … too loud. The troll must be _huge_. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

The first thing they saw was the club. It poked through the illusion, testing it.

"Normal spells can't penetrate troll hide," Hermione whispered, panicking. "Fred, what penetrates troll hide?"

The twin flashed her a showy grin that veiled his nerves. "Don't know, but we're pretty good at making noise. Should stall 'im long enough."

"Enough for what?" Harry whispered, watching as the club lifted up through the illusion once more.

"Dumbledore, of course."

The troll chose that moment to ram itself through the illusionary wall, completely dispersing it and destroying the set of sinks as he tumbled into them. The club lifted and smashed down, cracking the edges of the stone and mortar.

If the troll used that club on them … that would happen, Hermione realized. They'd be cracked.

And the _smell_. It was absolutely rancid. She couldn't help it, she made a gagging noise that immediately drew the troll's empty eyes towards them.

Fred and George both threw out spells, summoning large sparklers that danced around the troll's large ears. The troll spun and swatted as if they were flies to be knocked away. But it worked. The troll wasn't focusing on them. Hermione realized she could distract the troll too. She could help!

"Ignis Sapphyrus!" Hermione screamed, no wand but both hands raised.

She'd hoped to send her little blue flame to stick somewhere on the troll, an unburning fire that the troll would try to put out but be unable to no matter how hard he swatted himself.

But in her fear, she'd overpowered her little bluebell flames, and it came out as a constant stream like a giant blue flamethrower, clinging to every surface on or around the troll … like its eyes.

The troll howled at being blinded and thrashed around, hitting himself at in the face and arm. It tripped and stumbled, dropping its club in favour of punching himself in the face to try and extinguish the fire. Hermione couldn't believe it had worked!

Then Harry pointed at the club. "Get that away from it!"

"Better yet—" Fred grinned.

"Use it," George finished.

The twins cast in perfect unison, levitating the club high above the troll's head. When the troll punched his club and their levitation faltered, Harry cast too. The twins and Harry dropped their spells together and with a very heavy club and some gravity smashed the troll's head. It slumped and crashed to the ground, throwing up dirt even as he crackled with blue fire.

"We—"

"Did it!"

Fred and George scooped up the pair in a merry, bouncing hug, jumping around in victory. The group laughed mostly in relief. They were alive!

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE!?"

The kids jumped. Their Head of House sounded angry, and they turned to the scene with new eyes. They saw the room on fire, the sinks and floors damaged and covered in water from the troll's stumbling, and then the fact that the four of them had been celebrating the damage …

Worse, Professor Snape and Quirrell were right behind the Transfiguration Mistress.

"Well?"

Fred and George jumped forward them and gave a dramatic bow.

"We have conquered the troll!" They proclaimed. "We accept your eternal gratitude most humbly."

McGonagall looked down at the troll and looked livid. "What were you all thinking? Running from the Great Hall to face a troll? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You were instructed to go straight to your dormitories, not troll hunting!"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look, and Harry looked away to keep from getting angry again.

"It was my fault."

They all turned to Hermione, who was now looking very upset once again. She tried to lie, but she knew she couldn't. Hermione wasn't very good at lies, and the truth … it was embarrassing, but at least it was better than lying. "I wasn't at the feast. I … I wasn't hungry, so I didn't want to go. They came looking for me when they heard about the troll and … they saved my life."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the three who had come for her. Fred and George puffed up proudly, and Harry looked at her with what she thought was the same awed expression she had on her face.

"And why are you in the lavatory?" McGonagall demanded, breaking through their moment. "Miss Granger, if you were not at the feast why weren't you in the Common Room, or the Library?"

"It's not her fault!" Harry jumped in this time. "She was crying, alright, 'cause Snape made her cry! And Snape only made her cry 'cause of me!"

The teachers turned to the stoic Severus and gave him side-eyes.

"Again?" Minerva huffed, then turned back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I thought that after the last instance you would know to come to me for help. Hiding away is not an acceptable response, especially when your teachers don't know where you are."

Hermione felt the tickle of tears creeping up her throat again and only nodded.

"However," Professor McGonagall straightened, "let's not linger on that. I would like to hear how four students not even through their OWLs managed to take on a fully-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale."

Harry, Fred, and George jumped to tell the tale. Harry did most of it, with Fred and George jumping in with sound effects and troll-like acting.

"And then she torched him with her hands!" Harry exclaimed, while Fred and George made whooshing sounds to imitate the flames. "And he went crazy, swatting and punching and stumbling—"

Fred whirled, making caveman noises while grabbing his face. Hermione nearly giggled.

"—And then we spelled the club up and dropped it right on the troll's head!"

George bonked Fred on the head, making his twin pretend to fall over (he didn't, which was good considering the floor still had troll footprints and spit on it).

"I'm impressed," Professor McGonagall praised the group, ignoring the scoff from Professor Snape behind her. She turned to Hermione with a grin. "Bluebell flames, Miss Granger?"

She flushed. "It was just supposed to distract the troll."

"Do you even know any offensive or defensive spells?" Professor Snape glared down at her and she could feel her heart sinking, even as she didn't answer. "This will be rectified immediately. You are not to run off into danger when you have no concept of how to defend yourself! Foolish girl!"

Hermione didn't know whether to feel glad that he was offering to teach her more spells or mortified at being called foolish. She kind of felt happy that he was worried about her, but she still felt angry at how he'd treated Harry.

"Well, I'm very proud of all of you," Professor McGonagall told them. "The three of you were very brave to go after Miss Granger, and that the four of you worked together well enough to successfully take down such a large opponent is a wonderful example of teamwork. I believe you deserve ten points apiece."

"Absolutely not!" Snape snarled. "You will not be rewarding such dangerous recklessness!"

"Hush," the Professor told him. "Now, Quirinus, I trust you will deal with the troll while I escort my cubs back to the tower."

"Wait, Professor!" Harry ran up to Snape, looking absolutely panicked at the man's leaving. "We're still going, right?"

Snape glared down at the little menace. He wanted to say no. So badly. "Do you truly deserve to after this stunt?"

Hermione saw Harry harden up against the fierce words of Professor Snape before he turned to McGonagall with determination. "Snape said he won't take me. Will you? Please?"

"I certainly could. . ." she trailed off, looking expectantly at Severus.

Professor Snape looked thunderous, but through his clenched teeth managed, "Be ready in an hour."

"With Hermione?" Harry dared impudently.

"Her and no one else!"

Professor Snape swept away, robes billowing behind him. Professor Quirrell just managed to scrape himself off the floor enough to examine the toll once the most terrifying thing in the room had left.

Hermione grabbed at Harry, who was grinning like a loon and pulled him along after the already moving Professor McGonagall. "That was so brave, Harry! And he agreed? When was this?"

"In class," Harry told her, "after you talked to him. What'd'you say, 'Mione?"

She blushed. "I don't really remember. I kind of shouted the first things I could think of. We argued about how you weren't arrogant or spoiled, and how hard you worked in classes. I kind of, er, kicked him. In the shin."

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall snapped.

"He gave me another detention!" Hermione quickly reassured her, ignoring the guffaws from the twins behind her. "He just wasn't listening to me, and I got really angry at how much he was insulting Harry. He kept acting like Harry couldn't do a single good thing, and that wasn't right! I know how hard Harry works in Potions and he still gets 'Dreadfuls' even when I help him on his essays. I get Es or Os in my class! It's not fair! He can't be allowed to treat Harry that way, can he Professor?"

McGonagall pursed her lips and appraised the pair of them. "Mr Potter, is this true?"

Harry avoided her eyes, instead looking at his scuffed-up shoes. "It's – I mean – with the homework, yeah. I don't want to be held back, but … I can't try any harder."

McGonagall didn't look surprised, only disapproving. Pursed lips and all. "If you still have those essays, bring them to me tomorrow in class. Headmaster Dumbledore is nearly as good at Potions as Severus – he is versed enough to grade you a first-year – and we will determine the course of action to take once we have your scores. If what you say is true, I will have your grade in Potions class _overseen_. But I believe this evening will also help, Mr Potter. I'm sure you will approach this as an opportunity to foster understanding between the Professor and yourself, yes?"

Harry nodded up and down as fast as her kitsune did following a treat.

"And Miss Granger?" she continued. "Ten points to Gryffindor for standing up for your friend and telling me about this problem. However, do consider that with Professor Snape it may be wiser _not_ to kick and scream."

The Gryffindors were ushered into an anxious Common Room and immediately jumped on to tell their story. They tried to answer as many questions as possible, like how big the troll was and whether they were scared –luckily the twins and Harry kept out her wandless magic bit—but soon the school was invited back to the Great Hall to finish their interrupted desserts.

Before that, though, she wrapped up both twins in a massive hug. This one was returned without any sense of joking or levity. "Thank you for coming for me."

The twins squished her in their arms a little too tightly. "Merlin, spitfire, don't do something like this again, 'kay?"

"Nearly gave Fred a heart attack, you did."

"Yeah, and you didn't go white as a ghost, George."

"That was because Harry had run off!" George looked around and yanked Harry by the arm into their group hug. "You! Savior of the Wizarding World or not, keep out of trouble, you hear?"

"I promise!" Harry shrieked as he was pinched and tickled by the twin. "I promise!"

After seeing the twins off, Hermione and Harry had just enough time to change and run down to the dungeons to meet Professor Snape.

"What do people do, you know, at graves?" Harry asked on the walk down. "Do they pray? I don't know how to do that. Or do they just talk?"

"Talking to someone who isn't there is a prayer, I think," Hermione considered. "My family prays, so I could show you if you want. Most people bring flowers. Like a gift to show we remember them. Maybe … I don't know. You should just do what feels right. I can conjure some flowers if you like. They'll fade after a day, but if you wanted I could do that."

Harry gave her a shy smile. "Thanks."

Professor Snape said nothing as they trekked down to the village, not a word besides, "Hold on to an arm." As he apparated them. Harry didn't either, but he was probably thinking of what to say during the visit.

"'Mione?" Harry murmured as they entered the graveyard. He didn't say anything more, and it took her a second to realize what it was asking, but then she waved her hand and conjured a small collection of red roses.

"Will these be okay?"

"Yeah. . . thank you."

Professor stepped past them and reached the gravestone with long, brisk steps. _Let them follow behind_ , was his cruel thought. _She was my friend, and I knew her better than this brat ever cou—_ the inscription of 'LILY POTTER' on the headstone pulled him up short.

He'd always allowed Lily to be something akin to a conscience for him, but when it was _her_ son he was leaving behind to attend _her_ grave, conscience was a mild word for the punch in the gut the thought of her was. He was a miserable man, truly, but taking more claim to her than her orphaned son ... He had known her longer, loved her longer … but Lily would have loved the boy more, loved him forever … even if the brat didn't know how precious that was.

The hand he'd allowed to rest on the headstone fell away and he stepped back and into the shadows of the dead-leafed trees. He would play the observer tonight.

From the darkness, Severus watched as Potter hesitated and didn't even approach the grave at first. He stared at it as if afraid. He was reminded again of Miss Granger's assertion that this would be his first visit to their grave. It seemed the boy hadn't been lying. The tears in his eyes were real, as was the tremor on his lip, the shaking of his flower-clutching hand.

Perhaps it was because Potter was not focusing on him, was ignoring him, that he seemed different. Or the situation was getting to him. Yet he was shocked to see that the boy wasn't treating the trip casually or like some token gesture. More surprising still was when the boy knelt with Miss Granger by his side and offered a prayer.

"Since you're not talking to God, I think it'd be okay to just talk to your parents," Hermione said thoughtfully, folding her arms to show Harry. "I'll say a little prayer to them first, okay?"

The boy nodded, and he listened intently.

"Mr and Mrs Potter," she started, her voice taking on a softer quality than he often heard, "Harry's here to see you today. He's a really good person, and I think you would be really proud of him. But he's also feeling really sad today. Can you have the Spirit give him comfort, let him know you love him? Thanks. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

Severus watched as Miss Granger looked to the misty-eyed child next to her and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, that's all I could think of. Do you want to go now? You don't have to do it out loud or anything."

Potter nodded, and after a few more words of encouragement, she made the unexpected decision to step back from the boy's private moment and stand next to him instead. They'd not yet made amends for their angry exchange at lunch, but perhaps the girl saw what he was trying to do here. This trip was what had caused the argument – at least at the beginning – and him being the teacher to escort the pair was his offering to her.

And though he made no movement to greet the girl, she took his silence as acceptance to an unspoken request of support. He was turned into a leaning post, a bony chin on his elbow as her head rested on his arm, curly hair rubbing and shedding on his coat. He could have pushed her away, but she must have had a trying enough day to leave her this tired. Perhaps he would take points later.

The moment didn't last long. The atmosphere of the graveyard shifted dramatically from reverence to sorrow as Potter let loose a keening wail, his scarce tears from earlier multiplied tenfold in a flood on his cheeks.

Hermione jumped at the small but all-too-piercing noise her friend had made and fell to the grass next to him. Severus could hardly watch as Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, tried so hard to fight his tears that the sounds tearing from his throat could be heard echoing off the trees. He was scratching at his face around his eyes, twisting side to side, contorting his face in agonizing positions all to avoid the tears that had already escaped.

"Harry, Harry, it's okay." With a gentleness he scarcely knew Miss Granger had pulled the boy into a hug and wouldn't let go. "Just cry. It's okay."

The boy returned her hug in a tackle more than an embrace, squeezing the girl as if she were a life-preserver, and then let out his first real sob.

Severus was shaken to his core. _This_ was the arrogant brat who knew nothing of sacrifice? _This_ was the spoiled child who had never known a day of pain? Those tears were not perfunctory, shallow droplets, nor were they those of an innocent, unburdened child. He had seen too many people mourn not to see that this child was heavy with the weight of it.

What could Potter possibly had lived through to make him weep as if he'd lost them that day? Potter probably couldn't even remember them, yet he wept as depressingly as one who had.

He watched on in silence as Granger, the naïve soul she was, tried and failed at comforting the boy with words before she gave up, opting for allowing the boy to restrict her breathing for as long as he needed with his overzealous hold.

Potter … lived … with Petunia Evans. He had dismissed his dislike of the woman when Potter was placed with her because he knew his dislike came from her perfect little housewife life. Instead of intellectual classes, Petunia had taken up cooking and home economics. Instead of university, she'd married a man with guaranteed employment and who was a few years her senior. A veritable suburban queen that he had been sure would cook and clean around Potter all day long.

But he did not see Petunia in the boy. Her appearance was always spic and span and arranged just so. The boy's hair was even more of a mess than his father's, the cuffs of his shirt now had dirt on them, and the way he wore his robes indicated that he didn't care about how he looked. Even though he'd said to dress his best for this trip and yet the boy was wearing his school uniform and Severus had no idea why.

And Petunia delighted in how delicious she could make her food and yet the boy was skin and bones, no roundness in his face at all. Even James hadn't been that skinny his first year. He was surprised he hadn't noticed before. The boy was also short, terribly short. All those runts looked small to him, but Miss Granger right next to him made the small child seem smaller.

Was Potter Petunia's best effort? Or even a mediocre effort? With how protective Miss Granger had been, he'd be a fool to dismiss his thoughts as mere imagination. Especially as the image of Harry Potter keening in front of his parents' headstone was now burned into his mind.

On their sombre walk up to the castle, Severus decided on a test. An innocent way to find out if he should dig further.

"Miss Granger, I'd like to speak with Mister Potter alone now."

Miss Granger was smart, or at least could read him better than most. She only paused for a moment in the spikey grass before she realized he was in no way feeling angry or vindictive. Perhaps it was the moment back in the graveyard they'd both observed, maybe it was how simply he'd spoken, but she understood that he meant the boy no harm.

With a brief hug and whispered reassurance to her friend, Miss Granger skipped on ahead of them, waving when she got far enough away before she kept walking. He looked away from the girl disappearing higher on the trail to the castle and back to the boy hunched over and avoiding his gaze.

"Mr Potter," Severus looked him over for all the clues, "you should write your Aunt in the morning."

There it was. Potter had turned absolutely rigid at the suggestion, and his eyes that had been dried of their tears now sparkled again.

"I'm sure she'll want to know about how today went for you," he continued. Potter, subconsciously perhaps, moved towards the school. "And considering how dangerous the troll was, she will probably want your reassurances that you are safe and well. But that's how a family is, isn't it? Always wanting the best for you."

He watched as Lily's eyes that had been filled with tears, not a moment before turned cold as ice at the mention of family, and then shut off entirely when he mentioned them caring for him. It was a bittersweet victory at best to know he was right.

"It might be wise for me to tell her in person, actually," Severus mused aloud, earning a wide-eyed panic from the boy. "If you bring me your letter in the morning, I can deliver it to Petunia and tell her that the troll was not –"

"You can't!" Potter interrupted, looking terrified. He shrunk down at his own loud voice and retreated into a mumble. "You don't have to, sir, you already, er, did this tonight and Hedwig – my owl – she hasn't really gotten to fly yet. She'd love the trip."

"It was not a request."

Potter's fists were now clenched so tightly he could see the knuckles turning white.

"Professor, you really shouldn't just show up," he insisted, shaking slightly. "'S'not polite. I'll send a letter, promise. My Aunt an' Uncle just don't really like magic or wizards."

Finally, a tinge of truth from the boy. And one easily used. He went in for the kill.

"Does that include you?"

A gasp. A true inhalation of breath done in shock. Potter's downcast eyes flashed up to his and the sheer pain in his eyes made him falter.

"Sir," Potter was appealing to him with those wide eyes, "they don't treat me badly, sir."

"But they don't care for you."

The boy's shoulders slumped, but he made no sound.

"This is why me calling you spoiled insulted you so much. It couldn't have been further from the truth."

The boy reared back almost as if struck, and Severus sighed. In such cases, his own abasement was the easiest way to reach them. A little – he groaned inwardly – _kindness_ would go far.

With that in mind, he knelt before the small boy much to Harry's shock. Now at his level, Severus gave him a sober look.

"I will not demand answers, Mister Potter," he vowed. "However, you must do a few things for me if you do not want this mentioned to any others."

The boy turned red but still gave a jerky nod.

"First condition:" he lifted a finger, "tomorrow morning before breakfast you will report to the Infirmary for a full physical examination."

"What?!" Harry yelped. "No! I told you, they never touched me!"

' _They never touched me!_ ' That was another truth Potter had just unwillingly admitted. He could hear it in the boy's tone that it wasn't just about hypothetical abuse. It was a tone that said they would never touch someone like him, a wizard. No care, no kind touches. It spoke of a deep level of neglect.

Snape nodded but remained firm. "Yes, you've said. But for my peace of mind you will get it done."

He could see the boy's dread, but it didn't look like he'd put up a fight and so Snape moved to the next point.

"Second condition:" Severus had only moments to think about this, but it was the best he could come up with, "you will bring me all your previous essays for regrading, and attend Miss Granger's Saturday tutoring session until I say otherwise."

That was a poor rule, one he never should have made, but he'd heard their complaints to Minerva earlier and now would admit he'd been unfair to the boy. His essays truly were half-decent and even outshone a fair share of his peers. But it had only angered him more. He'd been convinced that Potter was cheating or forcing another child to write it for him, but that ended now. His attendance at these lessons would give Severus an excuse as to his more reasonable grading of the boy and also allow him to observe the boy more closely week by week.

"What?!" Severus smirked at the boy's horror. "But you hate me!"

He stopped the boy right in his tracks. "No, I do not. I … apologize for how I treated you before, however I was told you were being raised in luxury."

First shock, then anger. The boy shook with anger.

"So you pity me?!" he yelled. "Is that it?! The poor orphan who has no one and nothing, right? Well, I have friends now! I have Hogwarts! I don't need pity!"

"It is not pity." Once again, he needed to halt the boy before he got too far along in his anger. Any further and the boy would run; he was already vibrating with energy, a fight or flight response to his intrusion merely moments away. "It is understanding. Perception is everything, Mr Potter, and before now I only saw your father; I did not know enough about you. I do not pity you as your situation is better than so many I've know, but I also understand that you are not the boy I thought you were and you did not do anything to deserve my treatment."

The wind left his sails and he halted in his anger.

"Now, a third condition, and the last:" Severus pointed directly at the boy's chest this time, "before you return there for the summer, anytime within these next six months, you will tell me what living with your relatives is like."

Green eyes widened in panic, and he held up a hand to stop the boy's frantic words and false denials. "This is not about discussing feelings or bemoaning your fate. Like I said, I have seen far, far worse. However, I need to know ahead of time what necessities to send with you: potions I can provide or other such supplies that will help you. If, as I suspect, your relatives do not feed you as they should then I will procure some food items that will store easily in your trunk and nutritive potions that you _will_ be taking to stay healthy. Perhaps a means of communication that will let you send for help if necessary. This is purely a practical measure, Mr. Potter. If you do not tell me ahead of time then I will be forced to interfere either with your relatives or with the Headmaster to ensure your well-being. Is that understood?"

He could see from the sharp, unseeing gaze that Potter was thinking through that final condition thoroughly. As he expected. He clearly didn't want to admit that his family fed him only the essentials or less, but he also wanted what was on offer. Food was precious to the boy and made an effective bribe. It was sad, really, how well he knew what the boy was thinking.

"Are we agreed?"

Potter hesitantly agreed, and with that, they headed back to the castle.

He felt he should say something more. Something better. The boy had just mourned his parents – likely for the first time – and then had his world invaded by him; surely he should say something.

"Your mother had a vicious temper when provoked," Severus ended up saying, prompting a wide-eyed look from the boy. "If you feel at all deserving of your treatment, know that if Lily were," his throat clenched, "still alive, she would storm Privet Drive like an avenging angel for how they treated you. I'm surprised she isn't haunting her sister right now."

Lily's eyes looked up at him as her son pierced his heart and carved a piece of it for his own. Harry Potter had gotten to him. Those wide eyes were so awed, so hopeful.

"Really?"

He cleared his throat to remove the painful lump. "Her last moments were spent protecting you; she would not have wanted you to live unloved when she loved you more than life."

Severus nearly drew his wand when the brat flung himself forward and straight into his ribs. Just like his hug to Miss Granger, it was strangling and desperate. Suspicious sniffles were coming from his chest and he had no idea where to put his arms.

"Potter!" His voice came out hoarser than he liked.

The imp jumped back then as if stung, eyes filled with fear. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

"As you should be. I do not hug students," he said gruffly. "It's improper."

But when he saw that small, truly minuscule amount of trust he'd finally garnered from the boy die in his eyes, he couldn't leave it. Halloween had induced temporary insanity, Snape would claim. Or the shot of firewhiskey he'd had before escorting them to the cemetery.

"However, it seems you Gryffindors have no concept of what's proper," he announced dismissively. "Miss Granger does the same no matter how many times I remand her for it. It seems I cannot stop any of you."

He saw the moment Potter understood his hidden meaning. He cannot stop the miscreants, therefore he _would_ not. Eyes alight once more, the boy took a hesitant step forward, and when Severus allowed his arms to twitch slightly outwards Harry launched himself once again into his arms. His chest ached, obviously from the crushing of his ribs and not from any sort of _emotion_ , but the crushing sensation felt better when he wrapped one arm around the child to rest between his shoulders.

It took a moment for his patience to run out and his itching skin forces him to prize the boy from his person. "Miss Granger must think I've disembowelled you by now. A tempting option, but we should be heading back."

The pair continued on their path, silent and slightly uncomfortable.

"You have a good friend in Miss Granger," he managed to say. "She is very protective of you."

The boy blushed a little too deeply. "She's-She's nice."

This was becoming far too emotional. "If she attacks me again in your defence you will share her punishment. Do let her know."

"Yeah, yeah, I-I will, promise."

"Good. And Potter?"

"Yeah?"

He levelled a flinty gaze at him. "I needn't tell you that any mention of our conversation or my part in it should _never_ reach the ears of anyone."

"Oh, no sir!"

"Be sure it doesn't, or you will regret it."

* * *

High above the entrance hall, in the bell tower, Minerva McGonagall watched with tears in her eyes as Severus held young Harry in his arms, no matter how short a time it was. She would remember the scene for a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: First, I want to thank everyone for their reviews and input. I've decided animagus forms! They won't be in this chapter, but they're coming up quicker than I thought. Now, thank you to the reviewer who requested that McGonagall watch Snape and Harry return from the cemetery; I added two sentences to the previous chapter just for you because it was such an amazing idea! And two, this chapter does have some direct takes from the Philosopher's Stone - the section with the Midnight Duel. Had to keep it, since it is our first introduction to Fluffy.**

 **Now enjoy!**

Chapter 16

* * *

Hermione didn't know what had happened between the Professor and Harry when she'd left the alone, but when they both came up the hill finally Harry had rushed her and pulled her into the tightest hug imaginable to thank her repeatedly and fervently. Even Professor Snape clapped his hand on her shoulder in an unusual show of affection.

And the result was exactly what she'd hoped; Harry didn't complain about the Professor anymore. Instead of turning his essays into McGonagall in the morning, he'd gathered all those Poor and Dreadful essays and brought them back to Professor Snape.

* * *

 _What am I going to do with the boy?_ Severus thought as he scribbled on the page blow.

Potter needed Defence lessons with Granger, that was certain; two first-years going up against a troll without even knowing _stupefy_? Unacceptable! With Quirrell in the school he would not allow them to be unarmed.

Miss Granger was competent enough that the Saturday tutoring session he provided could be divided to add Defence.

Then there was the matter of the report Poppy Pomphrey had delivered to him just moments ago in a fit. Potter was right, they had never touched him. That was the concern.

A knock at his door. "Enter!"

 _Think of the Devil,_ his mind snarked when the tiny boy with messy hair popped his head inside. "Well, Potter? I haven't all morning."

The boy scurried straight up to his desk with rolls of scrolls burdening his thin arms. He dumped them on his orderly desk. He was seconds away from snarling at the child when the bright emerald eyes looked up at him with that small spark of hope and trust from the day before.

"I brought my essays, sir."

Severus swore internally. He could very easily extinguish the spark in Potter, so easily … but he felt as guilty as the day he insulted Lily at the thought. So, instead, he tapped his wand and the scrolls flew into chronological order to his right-hand side.

"So, it seems," he agreed, ignoring them for the moment and holding out a potion. "Take this. Then we have something to discuss."

Harry gave a face that told him Poppy had shown him the wondrous taste of potions already, but he took it without complaint.

"That potion, Mr Potter, is a regenerative mixture for your lungs," he informed the boy. Harry looked up in alarm. To explain some questions, he displayed the parchment out of his eyesight. "I had a chat with Madame Pomphrey before you arrived, which surprised me. Many other students would put off such a task. I'm very proud of you for going to her when I asked."

There was a gleam of happiness that invaded those worried orbs that told him he'd chosen correctly his wordage. "Your results do indeed show that your relatives did not touch you … or feed you, or provide proper glasses, or give you any medicine for illness."

He put the parchment back on his desk deliberately. "It seems we have some work to do. You have nothing urgently wrong with you, however your lungs are scarred from an untreated bought of pneumonia when you were younger, your bones are weak, you are undersized and underweight, and your eyesight is awful. We'll address them one at a time, in that order, until you are as healthy as your peers.

"Except for your eyesight," Professor Snape informed him. "Potter, have you noticed there is not a single other student who wears eyeglasses? Or that it is only the older staff members such as Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster who do?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, I can tell you there is reason for this," Severus informed him properly. "The older generation don't care for it, but there was a potion invented eight years ago that can change your eyesight to a proper, corrected state." He had developed the potion himself, using his own vision as a guide. He'd always been told he had eagle sight. "Your eyes will burn for a few hours, however if you take it before bed you should sleep through it and wake in the morning with better vision. If that does not appeal to you, I can also take you to get new glasses."

"No, no, sir!" Harry didn't want to know how expensive the potion was, but he _knew_ that glasses were expensive from his aunt. "I don't want to be a bother, sir. Really!"

Severus Snape was at the end of his patience. _Petunia Dursley nee Evans, if Potter didn't have to return to you every year …._ The boy clearly had no idea the NHS paid for doctors and eyecare and such. He had no idea that his care was only the inconvenience of taking the boy to the doctor's office once and a while and feeding him properly. Or if he did, he considered even that meager bit of care to be too much for normal people. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Potter, it is no bother for the Potions Master who _invented_ said potion to brew it for one boy," he turned his eyes to the child, seeing him gape in shock. "However, if you do not want your eyesight corrected … ?"

"I do! I do!"

He rolled his eyes. "Once would have sufficed, Potter. You will have the potion. As you cannot take it with your other potions, it will have to wait for another week."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

Severus gave a small nod and sat back down in his chair. The book he'd selected was swiftly passed to the small child. He didn't expect Potter to read something purely academic – he knew better – so a collection of cautionary tales would have to do.

"Since it will take me some time to go through your atrocious handwriting a second time, you will need something to occupy your time. Yesterday you decided to take on a fully-grown mountain troll, so today you will begin your instruction in Defence. The first chapter should help you realize the potential consequences of going willingly into danger."

Understanding the directive, Harry quickly took the book in hand and sat in front of the desk to read.

Both Severus and Harry sat together quietly, one grading essays and the other slowly growing more wide-eyed at the candid description of Sir Ellis' overconfident trip into a dragon's lair, his slow dismemberment and then quick incineration. Harry gulped a little at the image.

He _had_ realized – once the troll's massive club had come into view – that he was in trouble. But he hadn't thought about what could have happened in detail. He hadn't necessarily thought about bones breaking or him dying, just that he was in general, dangerous trouble. It was jarring.

"I see you understand." Harry looked up to see Professor's discerning eyes. "You understand now why you were unbearably foolish?"

"But if we hadn't, Hermione would have been hurt!" he protested. "What was I s'posed to do?"

"Tell your Prefects, your Professors!" Severus snapped. "You were equipped with a mere month's worth of basic magic and were nothing more than lucky that you weren't killed! The Weasley twins, loathe as I am to admit it, make more sense as rescuers than you. Yet you ran in without a thought!"

Snape slammed down his hand and Harry jumped. "How can I protect you if you put yourself in danger?!"

Harry couldn't breath. The stern, evil Professor was angry, but because he wanted to _protect_ him? And Harry believed it; the Professor's eyes were burning and he was practically steaming. He wanted to protect him. Even though the Professor didn't like him, he still wanted him safe. His eyes prickled involuntarily. If he could dislike him and still care, why couldn't the Dursleys?

Severus averted his eyes from the brat's teary expression. Yelling at him was deserved in the face of his foolish heroics, and he would not apologize for it. No, better to divert attention once more.

"We'll let this be for now. In regard to you essays, they are exactly as I remembered," he fanned the parchments across the desk, bringing the boy's attention there. "The first few are of less than average quality, however they do improve significantly later. Miss Granger's aid, I presume?"

The boy nodded, but still looked teary. He ignored it.

"You will find the new grades more accurate to … your efforts," he complimented stiffly. "Take them. And read next week's potions section before our Saturday tutorial."

Potter scrambled to obey as quickly as possible, once again burdening himself with too many scrolls. Perhaps he should assign fewer essays.

"Thank you, sir!"

* * *

Harry came back from his meeting with Professor Snape several Exceeds Expectations, an Acceptable, and an Outstanding greater, with a beaming smile so bright it could have blinded the common room. So, in Hermione's extra lesson that day she gave the Professor one of the hugs he said he didn't like but never seemed to actually pull away from unless someone was watching. This time he even gave her a pat on the back!

And while she still felt protective of Harry, he was happier and his happiness made her feel more relaxed about it all.

Then Malfoy decided to be a ponce once again. The Quidditch season schedule had been announced, and the first game was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, meaning the blonde boy was more than a little angry at Harry for going up against his house as a first-year. Hermione had agreed to meet the three first-year boys for homework in the library, but they were promptly found and cornered by Malfoy and a set of cronies. Blaise Zabini was there, surprisingly, just leaning against the stacks with an amused grin.

"I'm not surprised you made the team, actually," Draco sneered at Harry. "There must be plenty of students who want to hit you with a bludger."

Hermione was ready to march on up there and clobber the little monster. They had a _truce!_ But Ron held her back.

"Harry's got this."

He did. Sort of.

"Jealous, Malfoy?" Harry glared. "I'm sure daddy will buy you a team of your own sometime."

Malfoy's face turned a violent red. "If you weren't Harry bleeding Potter you'd have never been allowed. You're the one they're fawning over."

"You're a lot braver on the ground," he pointed out, looking to Crabbe and Goyle. "I guess you really do need your goons to protect you."

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. Then his eyes slid to Hermione.

"Granger," he said.

"What?"

"That's cheating!"

Hermione glared at Malfoy. "I am _not_ dueling."

"Ah, ah," Malfoy tutted, "I named you. Unless you want to permanently end ties between our families – no more potions from my mum – you _have_ to stand as my second."

Hermione scowled. "You're blackmailing me? With hair potions?! You-you …. UGH! Fine, I'll come, but if I have to duel you're all getting boils."

Draco beamed a snarky smile. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"Midnight?!" Hermione shrieked.

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.

Hermione smacked the table, making all three boys jump. Neville hadn't done anything, but he was twitchy anyways from the encounter. "You boys are idiotic! Why would you agree to that?!"

Harry's eyes were wide. "But you heard him, I had to—"

"It's against the rules," she argued fiercely. "You are not going, Harry Potter!"

"I am!" Harry argued. "You don't have to be there, you know."

She folded her arms and looked down at the annoying black-haired boy. "Yes, I do, actually. And you need someone who can actually do magic in case something goes wrong. As if I'd let you go off without me."

Harry seemed to understand that she wouldn't tell on them, and that she'd even go just to protect them even though she hated the idea. He gave her a charming grin. "Thanks, 'Mione."

"You're thanking her?" Ron stated in disbelief. "She's Malfoy's second!"

"And according to you, I won't even have to duel," Hermione pointed out. "He only named me because he wants to rub it in your faces that he has a third-year on his side. And he thought, since I'm friendly with his Mother, that I wouldn't say no. I can't believe he'd do that! I'm telling Lady Malfoy on him; he is not allowed to duel or to be such a big prat."

Harry and Ron listened to her rant about Malfoy and about exactly what she was going to tell the blond menace's mum with a lot of laughter.

* * *

Hermione chaffed at the thought of breaking rules like this, but if the boys were determined she couldn't really do anything. So when everyone went to bed she crept down to the common room with a book (no one would notice if Hermione stayed up late reading) and waited. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows by the time the boys arrived. And Hermione was there, all dressed in a pink bathrobe and glaring viciously at them. "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

"Well, I am."

She huffed. "Fine."

Neville was right outside the common room, but the Fat Lady was gone so they had no choice but to take the boy with them. She liked Neville, though; he was the only other one there that thought this midnight duel was a horrible idea. Not that his input changed Harry's mind.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak - and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"Kids, always breaking the rules," Filch muttered, "hooligans. Must be 'ere somewhere."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry and Hermione both yelled in unison, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following - they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going - they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I - told - you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I - told - you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quick."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off. Oh no, that's the reason he picked me as a second! He wanted to make sure I was here too! Ugh, I'm going to get stuck with him in the morning!"

Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shush, Peeves - please - you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door - and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open – Ron gaped in surprise – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.'"

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right - please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay - get off, Ron!" For Ron had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

Harry turned around - and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare - this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Hermione could only stare. Her eyes went from head to foot, processing what she saw with cold dread. When her eyes met the dog's feet, it fixed on an iron handle and old-looking trapdoor.

Harry had been moving while she was frozen, and the door behind them opened. They fell backward - Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared - all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that - pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, either of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor! That Cerberus is guarding a trapdoor. And whatever is through it."

She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed - or worse, expelled. If you'd only listened to me, but _nooo_ , you don't need to listen to know-it-all Hermione. Hmph! Well, if you aren't planning on anything else foolish, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "Wait!"

She whirled around, hair crackling. "What?"

Ron gulped, looking warily at her sparking angry face, but the words came out anyways. "You used Harry's wand."

"What?" Both Harry and Hermione stared at him strangely.

He nodded vigorously. "When you unlocked the door, you grabbed Harry's wand and it _worked_. How did it work? Wands don' work for other people! My mum and dad don't even share wands."

Hermione thought back to the moment at the door. She had grabbed Harry's wand, and it channeled her magic just as well as her own wand.

"I'll have to look up what it means," Hermione thought out loud. "I don't know much about it."

"Well you wouldn't would'cha?" Ron said. "It's common knowledge, innit, but for the magical folk? Everyone knows. Kids don't use their parents' wands 'cause they don't work, see, and same with my brothers. Worst you can do is make sparks, and I can't even do that with Percy's."

Harry was looking even more perplexed. "Then why did mine work for Hermione?"

She frowned. "Maybe because … you were holding it? Or … what is it Ron?"

He looked hopeful. "Yeah, that must be it! 'Cause Harry was holding it, duh!"

"Well," Harry fumbled in his pocket for his wand, "we can try now, right? 'Mione can take my wand and try a spell."

"Her-mi-one," she enunciated. Still, Hermione took his wand in her hand. It felt the same as anything else. Her wand felt nice, but Harry's just felt … normal. She gave it a flick. " _Lumos._ "

Hermione didn't need to say it twice. The wand tip glowed brightly, enough that it was like looking into a torch and Hermione had to look at it indirectly.

"Maybe … I can try yours?" Harry suggested.

Hermione handed it over quickly and he gave it a swish. Purple sparks shot from the tip. Ron was green now.

"I wonder what it means," Hermione extinguished the light, leaving their night vision ruined. Returning Harry's wand, she turned to a green Ron. "What is it now?"

"Er, well …" He flubbed, looking between them. "It's just … that means you really match. Like … get _married_ kind of match."

Both Hermione and Harry looked at each other with wide eyes, taking in each other. It couldn't be helped, she was analyzing how Harry looked and how she felt and all of it all at once. He had very pretty eyes, but otherwise she didn't really find him attractive. _He is rather tiny_. She felt horrible for thinking anything negative about Harry – she did like Harry, and want to protect him, and enjoy spending time with him – but he was just so _tiny_ and helpless, and not at all handsome. He looked like a small child to her.

She shook her head. Her parents and her church both said she couldn't date until she was older, and so it didn't even matter. And Harry was more like a brother to her than anything else.

"Erm, Ron, I don't really think of Harry like that," Hermione said with a little too much strain. She was relieved when Harry agreed. "I'll look it up, but there should be another reason. And, Mr. Ollivander! He would know. I'll send him an owl."

Then she refocused, looking at both boys sharply. "What we need to do now is go to bed. Goodnight."

* * *

In the morning Hermione stormed up to Malfoy – aided in speed by the castle's punishment for him bringing him straight to her – and kicked him right in the shin before giving him an earful about obeying the rules, being honourable, and not taking out his bad moods on Harry just because he wanted to. Malfoy was browbeaten into submission by an irate Hermione Granger, then received a reply from Mrs. Malfoy regarding what Hermione had written to her, and apologized in record time to Harry and her.

Mr. Ollivander answered within the week with a simple reply.

 _'Miss Granger,_

 _You are not the first to ask about this. While a wand is loyal to its wielder, there are others – men and women alike – who it will allow the use of them. I had told you in the shop that I did not have specialized to specific people, rather to their personalities. This is true. And looking at yours and Mister Potter's I must see the resemblance. Both holly and gorse are prickly shrubs that defend and protect. Both wands are attuned to fire as well as vibrancy and rebirth, and both have owners who show a tremendous capacity for forgiveness. If no ill-intent exists between you and Mr. Potter, then it is not unlikely that the wand would be nearly as good as your own._

 _Compatibility exists here, but you needn't worry. It can exist as well between the best of friends more often than the best of lovers. Congratulations on finding a kindred spirit._

 _Garrick Ollivander_

There was nothing she could do but beam. And when Harry read the letter and gave her the shy smile in return, she knew everything was alright. They were really friends now.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

* * *

 **– Pieces from Philosopher's Stone –**

* * *

Then came the Quidditch match.

The weather had gotten steadily colder and now the November air meant Quidditch season had arrived, much to her discomfort. Harry had looked downright ill that morning, all pale and worried and not even eating properly.

"You've got to eat something."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione wheedled.

"I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Harry, you'll need your strength," said George.

Fred grinned. "Yeah, seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team."

Hermione threw a vicious glare at the boys, who wisely decided to turn focus to their bangers.

Harry gave her a weak smile. "Thanks."

If Harry's nerves were fraying, her nerves were shot. Even watching Harry and the Twins fly during practice made her want to pluck them from the sky and set them safely on the ground.

With the twins and Harry playing, though, she had to attend the game and she also had to find someone to sit with. And she'd already planned this; Ron and her didn't get on, never did, but Tara and her other roommates were also there to support Angelina. They helped her get a large _Go Harry!_ banner made, and while Tara was the one who drew the massive lion Hermione helped by animating the lion so it moved and actually made a roaring noise. She was quite proud when, before the match began, Harry smiling down at her sign from his broom.

Then the game started.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Go Harry!_ over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Hermione held her breath.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Her sort of friend and the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc - no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle - that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - Quaffle taken by the Slytherins - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goal posts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Hermione heard Ron's exclamation and pushed together with the other third-year girls to give Hagrid enough space to join them. She didn't really want to stand next to him as he was a little smelly, but she also didn't want to judge him either. So she put a little distance even though she couldn't keep her nose out of his conversation.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch - all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs - he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead - he put on an extra spurt of speed -

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below - Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Hermione didn't care about the foul, and instead screamed, "HARRY!" just as he regained control of his broom. Her heart was racing. Her friend and his broom were so high in the air that if her fell, he could die! Why was hee doing this?

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Tara put her hand on Hermione's shoulder comfortingly. "He'll be fine, promise. It will take more than Marcus Flint to hurt Harry Potter."

That didn't sound comforting. It sounded like a promise.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul..."

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts - he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out - and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Hermione was watching in horror. Her eyes had hardly left Harry after his last near-fall, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw him zigzag and shake violently on his broom.

"Harry!"

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession - Flint with the Quaffle - passes Spinnet - passes Bell - hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose - only joking, Professor - Slytherins score - A no..."

The Slytherins were cheering, but her scream had the Gryffindor section looking to the seeker high in the sky. Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have..."

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic - no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"Someone has to be jinxing the broom, that's what Hagrid said!" Hermione explained frantically, her eyes searching. "He said only dark magic, so someone must be casting it! If we can find them …"

It could only be someone older. One of the parents in the stands, or a teacher … She saw Professor Snape, eyes open and mouthing a chant of some kind, but it couldn't be him. It couldn't … She kept looking until she saw Professor Quirrell. He wasn't blinking, his mouth barely moving more than it would take to breathe, but she knew. That stare was filled with absolute loathing.

"I knew it!" Hermione gasped. "Professor Quirrell, look!"

Ron grabbed the binoculars and focused on the Professor.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could stop her, she flew from the Gryffindor section and went underneath the stands, following the dusty underside all the way to the teacher's section.

Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

There. Hermione crept up underneath the seat of Professor Quirrell and his garlic-smell, not bringing out her wand. There wasn't time. But she needed to stop him and stop him quickly.

Since the day with the troll, Professor Snape had not only been teaching her and Harry to brew, but also defensive and offensive spells that they could use in another bad situation. This was one of the times she would use it.

" _Stupefy."_

The bolt of red left her hand and connected with Professor Quirrel's lower back. The man immediately hunched over and fell on top of Professor Grubbly-Plank, whose loud shriek prompted Hermione to leg it from the scene of her crime.

She'd hexed a _teacher_! Hermione was practically hyperventilating when she finally made it back topside, but luckily everyone was cheering. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom. _I was right. It was Quirrell._

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick - he hit the field on all fours - coughed - and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference - Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results - Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

"It was Professor Quirrell," Ron was explaining. "'Mione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Quirrell do somethin' like that?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I think it might have something to do with the three-headed dog on the third floor. Maybe he's trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly. Hermione was bouncing just as eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But he's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Quirrell's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Quirrell wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Quirrell wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Hermione frowned though. "But Nicholas Flamel … he's the man who saved Paris from Grindelwald … and who created …" her eyes went wide, and Hagrid looked at her with dread. "Hagrid, is the Philosopher's Stone _here_? At Hogwarts?"

Both Harry and Ron looked at her like she was speaking gibberish, while Hagrid just looked sick. Hermione gasped. "It is, isn't it? What is something like that doing in a school?"

"Now ye listen 'ere, all o' ye," Hagrid looked down on them seriously. "Ye can't be saying nothing 'bout this, ye hear me? 'fessor Dumbledore brought it 'ere for safe keeping, 'e did, and there'll be no gossiping from ye."

"We won't," promised Harry and Ron.

Hermione echoed it, but she knew she would be asking her Professor. He would already know about it since Hagrid did. And he would be able to tell her more about why it was here.

* * *

"So you believe Professor Quirrell is trying to kill Harry Potter and steal the Philosopher's Stone."

Severus glared at the young girl. There was no way she had discovered this on her own. It was too … accurate of a guess.

"Are you certain of what you saw?"

Even with her massive, handmade scarf obstructing movement, she still nodded vigorously, anxiously. Severus knew that nothing made the girl so anxious as the safety of one Harry Potter.

"Professor Quirrell wasn't blinking, and looked like he was chanting under his breath," Hermione insisted. "Harry stopped getting thrown around when I … er… stopped him."

Severus pressed his fingers against his temples, fighting a headache. The girl had stunned her Professor to defend Mr. Potter. It was an escalation from shin kicking, but she clearly had no compunction against getting physical with her enemies.

"As you may well have saved Potter's life, I will not deduct points for stunning a Professor," he leveled his sombre gaze at her. "But if Quirrell had truly been trying to kill Potter, what do you suppose he'd do to the girl who stunned him?"

Her eyes went wide, and Snape scoffed internally. _Gryffindors_. Not a one of them considered the personal implications of their actions.

"But you believe me?" Hermione insisted. "That he's trying to steal the stone?"

He nodded. "Yes, I do."

Hermione sighed in relief. "Then he'll get fired, right?"

"No."

Hermione goggled.

"The Headmaster does not believe Quirrell is a threat," Professor Snape responded dryly, taking momentary amusement in her blatant disbelief. "Even when I tell him about your observations at today's match, I doubt he will get rid of the stuttering fool. No. Quirrell will be watched for any further actions against the Stone or Mr Potter, but the Headmaster prefers his enemies close at hand."

"But he's Harry's teacher!" Hermione exclaimed. "What if he tries to kill him again?! What if it's in class? There has to be something else we can do!"

Severus glared. "What, then? The Headmaster is the one who must dismiss Quirrell; I have no power to decide this."

"But the Board does!" Hermione exclaimed, all at once hopeful. "The Board can overrule the Headmaster and dismiss a teacher. If we tell them what he did, then –"

"The word of a student against a teacher will convince them, hmmm?" Hermione shrank. "You have proven intelligence, Miss Granger, so please make use of it. Without the Headmaster's support the Board will not believe the word of a schoolgirl over a Professor. It may convince a few, but without proof … ?"

Severus left it up to the girl's mind to provide the details.

"But … we have to do something!" Hermione cried. "I can't just let him get away with this!"

"There is nothing to do but wait."

Hermione huffed. "If you won't help me, I'll do it myself!"

Severus rose as the girl stomped away.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped. She whirled angrily. "You will leave this to me, do you understand? If you try and stop Quirrell yourself you will only end up in the same danger as Mr Potter. You will do nothing. Understood?"

Hermione squared her shoulders. "I won't let him near Harry!"

"He wouldn't dare," Severus sneered. "The Headmaster and I are watching him, and after the last game I made it clear that if anything happened to Mr Potter, I would know exactly who was responsible. He will not jeopardize his position as long as the Stone is here. Until he has the Stone, Potter is safe."

He could see her talented mind working through it. Finally, the girl gave a terse nod.

"But you're sure nothing will happen? And you'll keep teaching him those Defence spells, right"

"I will make sure Mr. Potter is equipped the best I can."


End file.
